


When Autumn Falls

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hunter Dean Winchester, Hunter Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: Sam grew up at Singer's Salvage with Bobby after being rescued by John & Dean when he was 8 yrs old.Sam & Dean become "brothers" over the years. They start hunting together.The story actually STARTS when they go on a werewolf-hunt together and shit goes wrong!MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS, please. Don't wanna hurt anybody with this one.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 66
Kudos: 24





	1. CHAPTER 1 ~ TEASER ~ THE HUNT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Supernatural Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Supernatural+Fandom).



> A/N:  
> I decided to try a one-shot a couple of years ago ... OBVIOUSLY …  
> this was an anonymous request 6 years ago.  
> So girl, I hope you're still around?  
> If you're ever going to get my message, here's your story:  
> Didn't stay a one-shot though … my muse devoured me like a bitch not knowing when to stop it, folks. You've been warned. 
> 
> The original prompt: hurt or sick sam, mentally hurt sam, caring protective brother dean, brothers in love, hospitalized sam, ICU, suicidal sam, dean to the rescue, wildlife-service
> 
> So, due to the prompt I have to give you a fair WARNING:  
> AU, but "close" to the original, except for: hurt!suicidal!mentallyhurt!hunter!sam, caring!protective!asshole!bigbrother!hunter!dean, unrelated!wincest, love, featuring!bobby, sam/dean, featuring!castiel
> 
> AU: SET SOMEWHEN AFTER SAM KILLED LILITH AND JUMP-STARTED THE APOCALYPSE!
> 
> I wrote this story to the tunes of “The Gambler” & “Night Moves”. It ran nonstop whenever I'd write … 
> 
> This story is not beta'd. But SPELLCHECKED  
> And by the way … partly written on Southern Comfort (not meaning that I was actually drunk when writing this).  
> Oh, and my first language isn't english – so I'm sorry for mixing shit up when it comes to phrases and the correct use of words etc.  
> Sue me … I'm a bit Castiel about it … 
> 
> Anyway, here we go: 
> 
> TRIGGER!WARNINGS: suicidal!thoughts, dark!thoughts, emotional!hurt, physical!hurt!Sam, caring!protective!dean, featuring!bobby, hunter!SAM, hunter!dean, dean/Sam, unrelated!wincest, love

_**When Autumn Falls** _

_**CHAPTER 1 ~ The Hunt** _

**Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:**

Sam's foster-parents got killed when he was only 8 years old.

The police figured it had to be a robbery.

No one would believe an 8 year old chubby Sammy, that there had been furred, huge monsters with ugly faces and horns growing out of their sculls doing this.

_No one._

But John and Dean Winchester, who eventually managed to kill these freaks.

They had saved Sam's life back then.

Sam ended up in yet another foster family after that.

Then he vanished. Just like that, he didn't come home from school. He was just gone.

Demon-activity was spotted in Sam's new hometown about that time too.

The whole thing of Sam's disappearance ended up on the news. - Ole John Winchester figured it had to do something with the demon-activity.

So he went down to Lawrence, dragging his 12 year old son along, to figure out if the signs were connected to the disappearance of kid which parents had been killed by monsters.

_Too many circumstances all the way …_

In the end, John saved the abducted kid from the demon's nest with quite some help from a couple of old hunter-friends.

One of them was Robert Singer, who happened to own a junkyard just on the outskirts of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

It wasn't save for the boy out there, as long as he didn't know about the whys and wherefores the demon's had taken the kid.

So he figured the best choice was to keep Sam disappeared and get him off of everyone's radar.

And which place was better warded against demons than Robert Singer's Salvage?

Exactly.

_None._

_***DW & SW***_

So Samuel Winchester was risen by Bobby and on occasion John had tried too. But the kid and John Winchester were headbutting way too often. No matter what it was about, and even if it was JUST BECAUSE, they were fighting over little things.

Like – Where the bananas in a peanut-butter-banana-sandwich had to be in the sandwich. Do you mash them? Mix them with peanut-butter? Cut them into slices? And if you cut them into slices, do have both sides of the sandwich have to be covered in peanut-butter or just one?

Robert Singer wasn't exactly father of the year either, and sometimes gone for a couple of days too long for his own opinion, but that was how it was.

The old man cared about Sam. And that was one of the most important things.

Sam would spend quite some time with Dean whenever he and his father were holing up at the Salvage to lick their wounds.

Or Dean would stay with him whenever John and Bobby had have something more complicated at their plates than just a simple salt and burn.

So actually Dean and Sam became part-time-brothers. The older kid got him his first fake-ID, showed him how to produce them, and he'd have his first alcohol-induced blackout with Dean when he hit sixteen.

Soon after that he went with the Winchesters and Bobby on hunts.

However, Sam didn't go to college. He had tried, but it was no use. After his girlfriend died, there was no intention to stay at Stanford, because everything reminded him of her.

Their apartment, the dorm ... simply everything.

So Sam returned to the family business. He was quite a good hunter too.

Specially he and Dean were one hell of a team out there. Killing monsters. Saving People. The family business.

They fell into a comfortable routine about acting like brothers, actually becoming brothers with all the ups and downs siblings had to deal with in their relationship.

It was no surprise, either to John, nor Bobby, that the both of them were some of the best hunters out there in the world.

Their perfect hunter's-life wasn't all lolly-pop and candy-canes, but they were together in this. They were trusting each other with their lives. They could relay on one another no matter what.

_And soon fate decided to put them on an acid test._

_***DW & SW***_

They've split up.

The werewolf's tracks lost in rain and mud.

It had been the last night of the full moon. If they couldn't hunt that bitch down that night, they'd have to wait another 28 days and probably another victim.

It had to be that night.

And that was, when it all started to go down south fast.

Dean Winchester had heard shots in the distance, howling, a cry and then deadly silence.

Dean's shouts for Sam, HIS SAM stayed unheard.

Dean had been looking for Sam for hours. Wet from the pouring rain. He had eventually been able to catch on the creatures trail, following the werewolf's tracks around for days after that, only to find the former Were's human form dead in a pool of blood. One of Sam's bloodied boots not far away in a ditch.

The kid was nowhere to be found.

He was just GONE.

As if a pit had opened up and swallowed him whole leaving nothing but his boot behind.

Dean had tried to reach out to Castiel, but the Angel wouldn't answer his forsaken prayers. Like so often lately, the angel was MIA.

By now he was gone for two days. Fourteen hours. Thirteen minutes.

Dean was desperate. Sam could be hurt, straying through the woods in delusion for all he knew.

It wasn't likely for hunter to bring authorities into the game, but he had reached the point of break.

There was no way he would find his so-called little brother – all by himself.

Bobby himself was on a hunt somewhere in the back-country

He'd have to cover more ground than one hunter could possibly muster.

_***DW & SW***_

It was dark. _Cold_. As cold as the first winter's night of the year.

He was freezing and soaking wet to his underwear. He was shaking all over, his clothes torn, blood on his scalp from an open wound. His head hurt. _It hurt so bad_ … searing pain lancing through his head as if to split in in half.

His ribs hurt.

His whole damn body _hurt_.

“ _Dean_.”, fell from his lips like a silent prayer in the bitter cold of the night.

Sam noticed, that he's had lost a shoe somewhen. Somehow. Somewhere.

All he knew was, that he had to keep on moving. He didn't know where. He just knew he had to.

 _Dean_ , was echoing in his mind. He had to get to _Dean_. He had to get to him, before the creature would.

Sam knew he's lost orientation. He knew that he was badly wounded, and he knew that neither of them would leave the woods alive, if he wouldn't be able to warn Dean before the threat could reach his big brother.

Actually he couldn't remember what threat it was, he had to warn him about. He just knew he had to. _At any cost._

At least one of the both of them had to survive this …

Sam Winchester could hear it's whispering. It's seducing voice disturbing his calls for _Dean_. .

_***DW & SW***_

So here he was. Wildlife-services involved. Searching the woods with thermal imaging cameras from their helicopters. Scouts. Man-trailing.

Too much attention, but who would care?

This was his little brother _missing_. Probably hurt and lying somewhere unconscious and bleeding and freezing to death.

Then – _finally_ \- on the third day there came news over the mobile radio.

_They've found him._

More dead than alive, not mere than a few hundred yards from where Dean had found the rotting body of the Werewolf.

They've brought Sam into the closest hospital with an helicopter.

Dean hadn't seen him yet. He had went straight for the Impala, accelerator flooring as he took off, never minding any speed-limit on his way.

The hospital was a hive of activity when he eventually arrived there. He tried to get a hold of some nurse. Or anyone else that was capable of telling him where Sam was. How he was and when he would be going to see him.

There was no use. He needed to wait.

Long nerve-wracking hours drew by with no new information about how Sam's surgery was going.

The only things Dean Winchester had heard when first a doctor came at him were:

_Hypothermia._

_Dehydration._

_Torn chest._

_Broken ribs._

_Pierced lung._

_**Head-trauma.** _

_Head-trauma_ was the only one of these injuries which kept echoing through the hunter's mind over and over again, attended by “ _coma_ ”, “ _no signs of brain-activity_ ”...

_No signs of brain activity_

_***DW & SW***_


	2. Southern Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the plot ain't THAT good, but for the sake of the prompt and hurting Sam, I'll roll with it.   
> Have fun ;)

_**Previously on When Autumn Falls:** _

_No signs of brain activity_

_CHAPTER 2 ~Southern Comfort_

_ **NOW:** _

Dean Winchester sat in a chair right up beside Sam's bed, his hand resting upon Sam's to give his unrelated sibling reassurance, to show him he wasn't alone in this and that they would handle whatever lay before them together.

_Swoosh. Click. Swoosh._ It was a terrible mechanical sound … 

The respirator bumped air into Sam's lungs at a steady pace, a tube providing that his brain would get enough oxygen.

Dark bruises covered Sam's left side of his face. A thick bandage covered his head, instead of a ridiculously thick mop of brown hair. They had to shave it off for surgery, drilling a hole in Sam's head, so to take the pressure away.

Dark bags under his eyes, bloodshot, filled with unshed tears. Dean was a mess.

The last warm sun-rays of October filling the room with a warm light.

He hadn't eaten. Hadn't slept.

A lost moth was bumping against the glass of the window, unable to escape it's prison.

Dean's heart ached, reaching out for Sam's.

“Sammy.”, he breathed against the lump in his throat. “You can't do that to me.”

The kid was in a damn _coma_.

Dean didn't know if he could hear him. If Sam could understand. Even if he'd knew what to say to the kid … That he was sorry? That he'd loved to change places with him? That this was all not supposed to happen? That Sam wasn't allowed to leave him like that?

_What was he supposed to tell the man? What COULD he tell him?_ That he loved him more than everything else on this godforsaken planet? 

Dean couldn't loose Sam. Not like this. Not in any other way. IF they were going down, they were supposed to go down together – it's been an unspoken promise between the two of them … 

Every thirty minutes, a nurse would appear, takings his vitals and SATS to note them.

Sam's bloodpreassure was under the range of normal, so were his SATS. Without all those machines, Sam'd be already dead.

He'd been lucky the doc had told Dean. A little bit later. A little more damage. A little less will to live …

Though, Sam kept shifting at the brink of death.

The upcoming 72 hours would tell …

Sam had wanted to wait until the next full moon rose. He'd told Dean that it was too dangerous out there. That the werewolf would get the drop on them, ever since he and Dean had no supernatural senses to track their bait down. Not like the creature at least.

 _The beast could smell them, see them, feel them …_ Sam had said. Had called it a suicide mission.

But Dean had refused. Had called him Samantha, and asked if he was afraid about his makeup.

Sam had given him a bitch-face

They had argued.

Dean had won.

_Obviously._

They shouldn't be here. In a hospital. Dean shouldn't sit at Sam's bed, unsure if he was supposed to pray that Sam'd wake up, or if he should let him go.

Dean knew it was too early to come to any conclusions … though, his mind settled on the worst case … so MAYBE it wouldn't hurt as much if Sam'd be gone. Then again, wasn't he already hurting more than that? Wasn't it worse than knowing that his brother was dead, that the kid was so badly wounded, that he could probably end up as a drooling mess?

_Head-trauma, accumulation of blood in his brain._

It's been a miracle Sam was still alive.

“You gotta fight this, kiddo.” Dean Winchester was no touchy-feely-guy. Except when it came to Sam. “You hear me? You fight for your life, just like you did out there.” He swallowed thickly. “You hunted the werewolf down. - You shot it in the head. - I knew you'd be out there somewhere.” Dean took in a shuddering breath, keeping his tears at bay. “You didn't want to go. You wanted to wait. We should've been waiting. You were right. Too dangerous.”

Dean knew that there couldn't possibly be any reaction to his words from Sam, though he searched his face for any sign that he was still in there.

“You're gonna pull through this. - You're gonna wake up, and we're gonna take it from there. You're going to be as good as new. They're gonna patch you up. We're gonna stay at Bobby's for a while until you're healed.” Dean said _something_ , anything. In case Sam could hear him. The kid needed to know that he had plans on how to play this in the aftermath, that he'd be there and that he was going to look out for him. “Maybe keep the short hair too, huh?” He didn't feel like joking, but he knew how bitchy Sam could get when his hair was at stake.

“Dude … you're so gonna hate this.” Dean would hate it too … After all, he loved everything about Sam.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam had two seizures during his first 72 hours in the ICU.

The first one though – that one Dean would _never_ forget.

_It was bad._

One moment, he lay there, no signs of life in him, and the very next moment he was tensing. Gripping Dean's hand, nearly crushing his bones and flesh to mush.

As soon as the alarm went off, the room was filled, a nurse pulling Dean away from the bed, shoving him outside the room.

He watched through the window, as a hive of nurses and doctors gathered around the bed, yelling commands about how much of which drug they were going to give him.

And then an unmistakable sound. For a split second everyone in the room froze, before breaking out on an even higher level of urgency.

_Flat-line_

Sam's heart had stopped.

_It had just stopped._

So did Dean's.

Dean felt his knees become weak. He didn't recognized holding his breath.

The ongoing alert, due the lack of heartbeats, was interrupted wherever they shocked his little brother in an attempt to jump-start his heart.

And eventually – _finally_ – the ongoing alert broke, falling back into a steady pace of peeps.

That's when Dean's heart gave him a nudge and reminded him to damn freaking breathe again.

_***DW & SW***_

Two seizures. And three cardiac arrests later ...

Sam had passed those 72 hours briefly.

The doc had told Dean they'd wait and see. Giving him _another 24 hours_.

There seemed to be barely a chance that there wouldn't be any permanent damage to Sam's brain – _and/or_ – heart.

This wasn't what Dean needed to hear right now. Because he already knew that. He didn't need the doc to point it out to him at the moment. That there'd be changes – if Sam would survive this – which was pretty obvious.

But Dean Winchester didn't feel the need to think about that, as long as Sam hadn't woken up.

And that was that. He decided to simply ignore it and save these miserable thoughts for later.

_***DW & SW***_

Dean had finally fallen asleep from exhaustion over watching over his brother. He had found a rather uncomfortable bench in the waiting-room on the first floor, his leather-jacket rolled up to a cushion under his head, a hospital-blanket thrown over his legs, arms crossed above his chest.

When he woke, it was morning.

The ICU was still silent, when he went upstairs to check on Sam, and place a hex-bag under the bed, just in case.

There was no need to get attacked by any ghost, or other creature. Or a demon playing on a Winchester's vulnerability.

Dean felt his phone buzz.

Bobby was calling, he might as well had checked on his phone. So either his job was done, or he had a signal again.

The buzzing felt urgent, despite the fact, that his phone always vibrated in the same old way.

“Hey” His voice was rough from talking all the time. Dean would never shut up when he was with Sam. “We had a … hunting accident.” Again, tears were pricking in his eyes. He still couldn't _believe_ it. Still couldn't _accept_ it.

The hunter turned away from a passing nurse.

Bobby just called him, to let him know that he was on his way, and that he'd be there in a couple of hours.

The old man's voice was soft and sad. Dean had never heard his friend this way.

The Winchester glanced at the clock above the entrance to the intensive care unit. Bobby told him, that he'd be there in about three hours.

Dean figured it'd be less.

With Bobby's surrogate son on life-support and the possibility of him never waking up again, he'd drive as if the devil himself was after him.

Bobby did, in fact, drive as if there was no tomorrow.

He made it there in close to two hours.

When he arrived, face ashen, dried tears in his face, he looked like a sad grumpy bear, you'd feel the need to hug the shit out of the old man.

“Bobby.”, Dean turned in his chair when he heard hasty heavy foot-falls echoing through the corridor, coming closer. Fast.

Robert Singer stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell on Sam's prone form, Dean's wrecked expression, deep lines of sorrow, hurt and agony on his face.

“How's he doing?”, the old man's voice broke as if it physically hurt him, taking in the situation. “What'd the doctors say?”

Dean inhaled deeply. He exhaled, his gaze trained at Bobby. Taking him in. Debating with himself how much the old man could stand at the moment.

He decided to tell him everything. A hunter could take that. There was no drastic reason why he should keep anything from Bobby. He was as much of a father to Sam as Dean was calling himself a brother.

They were family. No matter if in blood, or in mind.

“There've been no seizures during the past 24 hours.”, Dean started, trying to keep it clinical as if to fill Bobby in on a research about a hunt. “So … at the moment … it's still touch and go …” He filled him in on what the doc had told him earlier. He filled him in on what exactly had happened.

“He were arguing about it...”, Dean murmured, his face blank, though his eyes filled with so much regret. “We shouldn't have gone after it. It was the wrong call.”

Bobby seemed to digest on what had happened these past days. His fist wrapped around the backrest of Dean's chair tightly, his knuckles white as a ghost's skin.

Robert Singer knew that this wasn't Dean's fault. As a hunter – you often had to decide wherever to go after a creature or not. And all so often you'd make the wrong call and get hurt in the process.

“It's what hunters do, Dean.” Well, sure as hell the old man didn't quite believe his own words. “You know the drill. Sam knows the drill.”

“We were going in there half-cocked” One of the things a hunter should never do.

Bobby thrust his yaw forward. He had nothing on that. “Why don't you go and get yourself a break. I'll stay here …”

It wasn't like Dean wanted to have a break. But he recognized, that Bobby'd need to have some alone-time with Sam.

Ever since he wasn't the touchy-feely type of guy either, he understood, him. You don't want to break down and cry like a baby in the presence of another coherent person. Specially not when hunters were around.

_***DW & SW***_

Dean rented a motel-room with two queen-sized beds for them to crash. He stacked the small fridge up on beer, junk-food, protein-bars and Sandwiches.

They'd stay there for quite a while.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam was doing better. At least the doc had told him and Bobby, that he was finally stabilized and that they would take him off life-support tomorrow.

The doc was saying something about a feeding-tube, and that he would bring them papers to sign.

Bobby signed all of them without hesitation. Without reading them.

Sam was breathing on his own again, slow and steady as if he was fast asleep.

He's been moved to the IMC a few days later. Dean had – _again_ – warded the room as good as he possibly could without it getting noticed. Including the hex-bag under the mattress.

There were still too many tubes attached to Sam for Dean's liking. But that's how it was.

Sam was _alive_. He had pulled through it.

Now it should only be a matter of time until he'd wake up. _IF_ he'd wake up.

The room in the IMC looked nicer, the chairs were more comfortable. Even Sam's bed looked more comfortable.

And there was a TV in his room.

Dean and Bobby were taking turns on staying with Sam. They'd trade off, taking day and night-shifts. Dean chose the night-shifts anyhow – it seemed quite right for him to do so.

_***DW & SW***_

_Another week passed._

Two more flew by, the two hunters falling in a routine about taking care of Sam regarding the non-medical ways. Moving him in bed, so he wouldn't get sore, talking and treating him as if he was around, talking to him as if he was talking back. As if he was really there – and not in a coma.

Maybe it was because of that, that one night, Sam's eyes opened.

Dean didn't notice at first. He was babbling away, talking about the revengeful screenwriter summoning ghosts back then while going through a magazine checking out busty Asian beauties.

A magazine he's been flicking through so many times without actually beeing aware of what he was looking at.

It was just then, when he looked up, feeling a shift of molecules in the room. As if something had changed the atmosphere, enlightened the room.

“ _Sam_?” Dean straightened up in his chair, magazine slipping from his hands and landing on the floor with a muffled thud. “Sammy?”

He was up and hovering over his brother the very next moment.

The kid was staring ahead.

Dean grabbed his yaw carefully, forcing him to look at him.

Sam was staring. _Lights out._ No one home.

The hunter wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel relieved or worried. Happy, or broken. Though, this was supposed to be a good sign, right? Sam was starting to wake up … Wasn't he?

“You in there?” A smile tugged on the corners of Dean's lips in gleeful anticipation.

His heart sank only seconds later. If Sam was still in there somewhere he wasn't around at the moment.

Sam's eyes fluttered closed.

“Kiddo. - C''Mon open your eyes.” A threatful grip tightened around Dean's chest, leaving him breathless for a moment. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't come up with anything.

_***DW & SW***_

_The days went on …_

They made scans of Sam's head, ran tests.

His brain activity levels were close to normal now.

_Until_ … well, until he'd throw another fit.

This time it was Bobby's turn to witness Sam seizing and trashing around in the bed. Due to his improved health-condition he wouldn't suffer cardiac arrest this time around.

“Gave me nearly a heart attack, boy.” Bobby told Dean in the morning when he showed up for their change of shifts. “Hasn't opened his eyes since.”

The old man was heart-broken.

And it was all Dean's fault.

If he wouldn't have insisted to go out in the woods that night, Sam wouldn't be here. They'd be in a motel-room, getting on each other's nerves. Sam would throw bitch-faces at him, Dean'd call him Samantha and tease him about rabbits food and drinking half-caff-double-vanilla-latte.

Another couple of days went by …

It wasn't like anything had actually changed that much.

Sam seemed to be awake more often now, but he would remain in this catatonic state, no signs of his soul being bound to his body.

That was, until Sam eventually managed to break the leeve, which kept him from really being there. He _heard_. He _smelled_. But saw blurry silhouettes. But for the hell of it couldn't move.

He had tried.

_So bad._

_***DW & SW***_


	3. CHAPTER 3 ~ Not So Much Southern Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:   
> That was, until Sam eventually managed to break the leeve, which kept him from really being there. He heard. He smelled. But saw blurry silhouettes. But for the hell of it couldn't move.   
> He had tried.   
> So bad.

CHAPTER 3 ~ Not So Much Southern Comfort

He had tried to wink at Dean whenever he'd be close enough. He had tried to move his fingers, his toes, but they wouldn't obey. He could smell his big brother, the lingering scent of metal, burger and coffee with this very own touch of whiskey.

It felt like he was locked up in his mind, in a freaking cage, not allowing him to leave. To give sign, that he was still there, waiting for Dean and Bobby to bust him out.

This had to be one hell of a _curse_ , or _spell_ , or whatever other creature was behind all of this.

 _He had tried to talk._ To strain his vocal cords. To dare his tongue to move. But not a single part of his being was yet ready to obey to his commands.

The other thing was … his vision was a fog-covered blur of colors All he could make out were shapes.

Though it seemed to get better with time now.

_Maybe it was a spell, eventually wearing off?_

_A curse that had to be broken?_

Which didn't quite explain why there – _sometimes_ – were people around him he didn't know. And why the hell there've been so many of them taking turns. He also heard muffled sounds … things that didn't quite fit to Bobby's house, nor a motel-room … Maybe's ended up in a hospital …

He knew that Dean and his father were talking to him, he remembered their voices. But he couldn't – for the hell of it – understand what they were talking about.

_He had to be a mess._

Occasionally his chest and head would hurt like a bitch, until – every now and then – the pain would subside on it's own.

There was no pattern he could track, since he had lost the feel of time somehow. What he knew was, that when the room was darkened, it would be Dean being by his side. And then again, when it was brighter, as if light was there, it would be Bobby's turn to fucking talk the whole time.

He felt always like being so close to the surface. Just a brink away from breaching it, reaching out for the other side.

He was fighting the strange thin layer of SOMETHING that kept him under water. He was fighting to break through. _To finally break the leeve._

_***DW & SW***_

There was this single tear traveling down his cheek. A tear that carried so much desperation with it. So much anger and hope and all the things that were bottled up deep inside of him.

“ _Sammy_ ...”, it was the first thing he heard. He really HEARD. So crystal clear, spurring him on to break through this, to reach the surface and tear it apart.

Dean's Adam's apple popped as he swallowed. “ _Sam_. - Can you hear me?” He was all over his brother, hovering over him, touches soft like feathers fluttering over his face, his chest nearly frantically as if to find an area where he'd get to feel Sam's skin.

“C'mon. - You can do this.” Dean wouldn't let him slip again.

Sam was _crying_. Something was in his eyes that hadn't been there before. It was _FIGHT_.

His lips parted and a small sound was breathed.

“That's my boy.” Dean's hand fumbled with the alarm-button “'Bout time you get there, Rapunzel.”

There was another sound, a blink and a second tear forming in Sam's eyes, all watery and somehow _focusing_. “Can't have you sleeping all the time.”

Hazel eyes were filling with _something_. Emotions. Maybe life itself. They were training at Dean's big green orbs in the dim light. _Searching_.

Dean held his gaze. Longing for more than just that. He needed to hear Sam, needed to feel him move, even when it was too much to demand from him for just now.

Maybe it was that longing, which broke the fine tendrils of the delicate web which held Sam down under.

Maybe it was Dean Winchester's soul calling out for Sam's.

_***DW & SW***_

One of the nurses came, and went, only to return with a doctor by her side moments later.

The doc checked Sam over, checking on his pupils, asking Sam questions. He was talking loud and clear, giving time to answer, but Sam wouldn't make a sound.

Only his eyes led on that he was right there with them.

“What's wrong with him?” Dean knew, the doctors had told him already, but he needed to get an update on this condition like yesterday.

He was standing just outside the door of Sam's room in his demanding Winchester-like posture, caging the doctor.

“We are going to run some tests. - This is going to take time. Sam's going to need time. He needs to adjust.” The doc smiled in understanding. “I know this is _hard_.”

 _Time_. He hated that word. He've heard it a thousand times during the past couple of weeks.

Sam has had enough _time_.

Dean called Bobby, told him about the news. He got himself a breakfast and coffee, the actual newspaper to check on eventual cases. Not that he was going on hunts at the moment, but if he'd get across one, he'd tell Bobby to inform a close-to-the-area-hunter.

When he came back into Sam's room the kid's eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep again.

It's been the same old, same old.

Sam was progressing, but by far not as fast as Dean had hoped for. Hell, Dean didn't know what he thought in which amount of time Sam'd be _that_ snarky prat again.

Any progress was progress as it seemed. The doctors seemed pleased with it. _Dean wasn't._

_***DW & SW***_

Dean put his happy-face on, tugged the corners at his lips upwards and entered Sam's room. At least he wasn't at the IMC anymore. They've moved him to a regular room this morning.

“Hey there, Sammy.”, he sang. “You up for some news?” He waved the newspaper at Sam.

Sam smiled at Dean. Actually smiled, though it seemed uneasy and somehow sad.

Ever since he had woken up, this was one of the first times he would actually smile and was capable of turning his head, wiggling his toes and fingers. Though he still looked like shit.

Sam shook his head. _No_.

So _no_ news it was.

Dean went for the nightstand, where he exchanged the papers against a cup of water. He held it to Sam's lips and let him take a sip. They had to be careful, that Sam wouldn't choke on it, the doc had warned them.

Sam was still hooked on the feeding-tube and I. V's, so there was no need to rush things.

Sam had tried to talk. He had tried _hard_ , but it wouldn't work.

Somehow the words got lost between his head and lips. So as long, as his fingers and hands wouldn't obey him either, he would go with blinking or nodding.

Neither of it was satisfying, He wanted to know what had happened to him, what had brought him into hospital, and why Dean was mostly nice to him, instead of teasing him about the condition he was in.

So, there weren't a lot of occasions for Dean Winchester not going all-jerk on him. _First_ : This was a hunt gone wrong, and Dean thought it was his fault. _Second_ : Whatever had happened to him wasn't Dean's fault (not that Sam ever accused him of something like that), and he had gotten the shit end of the stick. _Third_ : Dean was having some kind of secret about this, because of the wherefores he was in hospital. And _Fourth_ : It could also be first and second …

“Doc said, you're gonna try potato-mash today?”, Dean asked when he put the cup aside and settled back into the chair, leaning back and trying to look relaxed.

Sam gave him a nod. _Yes_.

Shortly followed by a look, where he would rise his eyebrows, his left pointing-finger gesturing upwards.

“Nah. The tube stays.”

Sam scowled at him.

“It stays.”

Sam glared at him.

“You can look at me all the ways you want, Sammy. - Won't change a thing.”

Sam tilted his head, obviously changing the topic, by giving him the: _“When are you going to bust me out of here” look_.

“Sam.” Dean sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “That's nothing to fuck around with. - You … you ...” Dean rose to his feet and turned around, so that he hadn't have to see Sam in the eyes. “Look. - You've just came back, okay?” Usually they were hauling each other's asses out of the hospital as soon as they were coherent enough to know how many fingers the one was waving into the other's face.

The hunter could practically feel Sam stare holes in his back.

_***DW & SW***_

_Three weeks later …_

Sam scribbled on the drawing-pad with a green crayon – which Dean had stolen from the pediatrics a few days ago, as Sam wanted to try and write

“ _When are we leaving?”_ , he wrote and showed it to Bobby, staring at him intently.

Bobby sighed. “Told ya kid. - No way me or Dean gonna bust you outta here.” _Yet_ he added in his thoughts.

“ _What happened?”_ Since Dean wouldn't talk to him about what had happened, he saw his chance questioning Bobby without having his big bro hoovering over him like a starving dog over his bone.

“No stress, Son.”, his surrogate-father emphasized, giving him the don't-provoke-me-look.

Sam bitch-faced him from head to toe, then he laid the pad back into his lap and wrote again, more aggressively, it looked like he was carving the words into the paper.

“Sam.” Bobby gave him a warning glare. “Stop it.”

Sam's head snapped up and he mouthed an angry _NO_ in Bobby's direction.

“ _Why won't you tell me?_ ”

“Because it's probably better if you're not yet rememberin' shit.”, Bobby's bushy brows furrowed. “Don't wanna have you throw a fit.” _again_. “No pushin' no triggerin' shit, boy.”

“ _Didn't have any since I woke up.”_

“Supposed to stay that way.”

“ _Not knowing is stressing me too, Bobby.”_

“Sam.”, the old man's voice turned dark, even more warning. “Don't.”

Sam's neurologist had stressed out, that he'd remember if when he was ready. If memories came crashing down on him, it could cause another seizure. Bobby couldn't tell the doc that they've been thru more worse than a “ **bear** ” hunting you through the woods and trying to rip your insides out.

They have had a discussion about it.

Bobby figured, that this was all bullshit. Sam would _cope_. He knew, that his surrogate-son wasn't someone you smack down that easy.

Besides, not knowing what had happened stressed him too, just like Sam had said.

Bobby was arguing, coming up with some make-up-story why Sam would have the ability to work it out.

The doctor had set clear, that he wasn't questioning that Sam wasn't mentally capable to cope with the information. He was concerned about the physical part. He was worried, that his brain and heart wouldn't be able to process whatever pain and amount of emotions would come rushing at him like a tsunami.

Not telling him anything, and letting him argue wouldn't cause him a stroke – the doc had said.

Bobby finally gave in. The doc had a point, and maybe he was right.

So, not him nor Dean would loose a word.

Knowing, that a werewolf-hunt-gone-wrong, had to be enough for the moment.

Sam made a disapproving sound.

“ _I'm not fragile.”_

“Tell you what. - WHEN you are on your feet again. When ya walkin', eatin' and talkin' – and if ya don't remember until then, me and Dean are gonna tell you.” Discussion terminated. “Otherwise we stick with the doc.”

_***DW & SW***_

That's what's all it needed.

Sam wouldn't wait until the doc or anyone else told HIM in which pace he was supposed to heal.

Memories wouldn't cause him to break down. He was not fragile and he sure as hell hated it, when everyone seemed to move on eggshells around him when it came to the accident, or in which physical condition he was in right now.

Sure, he got chewed on as it looked like. He's had surgery. His hair was short now and he could feel sore scars somewhere along his scalp He didn't have any worse yet, but it didn't seem reasonable to fuss around that much.

Now he was recovering. Everything except for the not-being-able-to-talk-thing seemed fine – in view of his condition.

He haven't had any seizures, nor other weird stuff going on.

So he was pushing and clawing at the wall his mind had set up to keep himself from that memories at bay.

He was going to be able to take a leak by himself in a week.

He was going to get the damn tube out of his nose even earlier.

And he would be damned, if he wouldn't be able to stay awake more than just 3 hours at once in not lesser than the same amount of time.

If the others didn't want him to speed things up, he sure as hell would not play along with them. It was time for him to get out of the hospital.

Something was nagging and drilling at his insides to get back on the road and back into those dark woods he could barely remember   
There's been something he needed to remember, something he had to follow, to track down.

_***DW & SW***_

_That night, it froze._

That night, there was this shadow … Barely to make out in the stormy weather outside, hidden behind a tree.

Darkness floating from it, devouring it, or even worshiping it's master.

_***DW & SW***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted on fanfictionDOTnet
> 
> So, well the story is done, 11 Chapters and a huge amount of words are coming ...   
> I apologize for my english ... and my writing ... I am not very satisfied with the style ... though the plot is not so bad ...


	4. CHAPTER 4 ~ Mist Of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:
> 
> That night, it froze.
> 
> That night, there was this shadow … Barely to make out in the stormy weather outside, hidden behind a tree.
> 
> Darkness floating from it, devouring it, or even worshiping it's master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I guess it got more than just a hunt gone wrong, huh? ;)

CHAPTER 4 ~ Mist Of Something

Sam was about to get around around by his own. At least _in_ the room. He still needed a wheelchair sometimes. Mostly he'd pull through without it. He'd push himself to do so. Only on his very bad days he'd allow himself to use the wheeled chair.

On those days, Dean'd be watching out for him closely. He knew that Sam was going at it like a rabbit animal in blood-lust

Because that's what Winchester's do. They'd fight. They'd never give up. They survive. They hunt.

Though, the _talking_ wouldn't work at all.

Sam didn't seem as if it was a severe issue to him, but Dean could tell that it wasn't _that_ easy on the young Winchester.

_His kid_ knew how to play it cool.

A trait he admired. Dean wasn't sure if he could take loosing his voice, or ability to speak, that easy and going not all crazy asshole about it.

_Days passed, even weeks …_ Dean eventually told Sam about the hunt and the werewolves. He told him that he's been missing for days before they found him. He told him everything he knew.

Nothing of it caused Sam to remember, nor his brain to get triggered by any of the information.

So that was that.

So the day came, when Bobby came along with his Pickup-Truck, to pick Sam and Dean up. They would hole up at the Junkyard for a while. Until Sam'd be able of taking on longer travels.

Speaking of.

They had quite some miles to turn down to the Salvage. So he had checked a hardtop for the load-bed of his old Ford F250 Custom and a heater to pluck into the cigar lighter.

_***DW & SW***_

Dean pushed Sam in his wheelchair down the hall of the hospital. He had wrapped Sam into a blanket, despite the warmth inside, so that he wouldn't catch a flu due to the temperature-changes between leaving the hospital and Bobby's car.

After all, Sam hadn't gotten out a lot and Dean figured, the kid (who wasn't a kid anymore anywho. - After all he was already 30 years old.) wouldn't be used to the hard January-cold outside.

“There we go, Sammy.” Dean stopped at Bobby's parked car.

The old gruff man had the engine running, warming up the load-bed.

Sam looked back over his shoulder and up at Dean, cocking an eyebrow, _asking_.

“Can't have you in the front. No space for a Sasquatch like you.”

Sam kept looking.

“Baby's not good for you. Laying all cramped up in the backseat.” His cocky grin faded into something softer when he gripped Sam's shoulder. Not too tight, but firmly.

“Ready to roll, son?” Bobby appeared at the end of the load-bed, checking Sam over with his look.

The youngest Winchester was still pale and had – by far – not the weight – he's had before the accident. He looked damn fragile in the chair, and his hunched over shoulders, in a too over-sized hoody.

Sam shivered.

“Let's get you inside.” Dean's breath vaporized in the crispy air.

Sam gave his old surrogate-father a soft smile and nodded at the load-bed

“Bossy.” Dean nudged Sam's shoulder.

Sam insisted on crawling on the load-bed by his own. Bobby had laid it out with an old mattress a few cushions and blankets.

“Princess's chambers, kiddo.”, Dean smirked, practically able to feel Sam's bitch-face in response even if he couldn't see it.

By the time Sam had managed to get up on the load-bed and had worked himself up towards the driver's cab, he was breathing heavy and wearing beads of sweat on his forehead.

Dean hopped in right behind him, his hands guiding him without touching.

Bobby waited patiently, eyeing his son cautiously. “You good?” He sounded worried. Honestly worried, as if he allowed the boys to have a blink at the feelings he was cautious to keep to himself most of the time.

The old man's eyebrows furrowed.

Sam gave him a _okay_ with his hand, bracing himself into the mattress, and a short nod. All the way commanding himself to slow his own breathing and so not to look as weakened as he actually felt.

Today was a bad day.

Dean settled in beside his little brother with two blankets in his lap. “You good?”

Bitch-face number 5 today.

“C'mon. - Lay down. Gonna get 'ya all wrapped up.” Dean gave his old friend outside the car a stricken look.

The doc had told them that it wasn't a good idea to leave just now. But Sam had intended on it, and so far, there were no signs that he shouldn't.

Besides the obvious.

Sam laid his head onto one of the smaller cushions and pulled the blanked tighter around his shoulders, bony finger's tugging at the thick fabric. Without being asked, Dean reached over to him. Their looks met.

Dean didn't have to say a word.

Neither did Sam.

The younger man shifted and wiggled and Dean pulled carefully at the blanked to get it loose under Sam.

Dean tilted his head to the side. _Asking_.

Sam's lips tugged upwards. _Answering_.

Dean tore his gaze away and looked at Bobby at the end of the load-bed, giving him a nod, telling him that they were ready.

Short after, the old engine roared up, and the heater in the back came to it's full amount of power.

Sam was shivering.

Dean draped the blankets over Sam's form. “You good?” His voice has dropped an octave.

Sam made a shaky sound in response.

Dean settled down. Of course he was taking advantage of the situation to be closer to Sam than absolutely necessary. It's always been longing looks and lingering touches so far – nothing THAT obvious.

So when his little brother didn't mind being that close, and didn't attempt to push him away, it had to be okay. Then there was nothing wrong with spending comfort and warmth to the man who meant that much to him, that he didn't bother showing his affection for him.

It's always been about Sam. His entire life – at least since he knew him. And before that? Dean couldn't really remember how it was before the chubby eight year old boy came into his life. It seemed, as if his life had gotten a special purpose since he knew the kid.

He's been taking care of him. He always had. - He was there, when Sam crashed into puberty and had his first lovesickness. He's been there when he played superman and broke his arm. He's been there in his good times and the bad ones. And if not physically, then at least via phone or mail – depending on what either of them was up to at the moment.

Unconsciously, he started rubbing circles into the fabric with his thump.

Sam made another sound – a more comfortable one.

They were _close_. Have ever been … except for short amounts of time … wherever it was about demon-blood or the apocalypse.

But tending one another comfort by such a loving gesture was something that had rarely happened before between the both of them.

And Dean liked it.

Well, he didn't like, that Sam was hurting, and that he's been injured. He liked the closeness, the tenderness he was now allowed to show his little brother without thinking bad about himself.

Sam liked that too.

He felt save and sheltered with the older Winchester. Ever since.

But now, it didn't matter, that it might look weird to anyone when they were so close. Now it was a casual thing about communicating via gestures, touches and lingering looks. Getting into contact with one another seemed so much easier now, that Sam was mute.

He was touching Dean more often now. Lingering touches – which were longer and felt more intensive – which weren't always needed.

Sam knew he was taking advantage of Dean by doing so. He knew that when shit got ugly, Dean was there for him and with him, and that he'd let slip one things or two, for which - under normal circumstances - Dean had probably punched him in the face.

Half way thru their journey, Sam started to stir in his sleep, silent noises ghosting over his lips, of whom Dean wasn't sure if it were distressed sounds.

“It's okay, Sam.”, he murmured, his voice raspy. “You're okay.” The older Winchester had gotten used to sooth Sam back into his sleep whenever he seemed to become uncomfortable or distressed nowadays.

Maybe it was some sort of making-it-up to him. - After all that had happened, after all that he had said to Sam back in the day. Specially during their days when it was all about Ruby. It had hurt Dean deep down to the core seeing his little brother with that demon-bitch. He knew right from the start, that she was using him, manipulating him. The more he was surprised, that she had been able to drive such a deep verge between the both of them.

Sam had put that demon before him. _Obviously_. No matter because of what attentions he has had. _It hurt._

Usually it wasn't Winchester-like to handle a grown-up-man's nightmares that way. Living in each other's pockets … there were not a lot of secrets to be kept as a secret. Neither it were their nightmares, a little bit of PTSD sprinkled on top. A hunter would know...

So far they had each managed their nightmares and shit on their own. - But ever since Sam's life had been at stake, something in Dean had changed.

He couldn't possibly play it as cool as Sam seemed to do. He was worried. _Period_ now.

Sure, the kid haven't had a seizure since the one when Bobby had been with him, but the doc had pointed out, that it could happen again and that only time could tell if it had been his last one.

There'd be a whole lot of work waiting for them in Sioux Falls.

Appointments to make, physicians to visit. - Well, not mentioning that they practically had Pastor Jim as their doc, who would manage to get them a suitable physician for Sam. - One who knew about the business and the what- and wherefores.

There was no such thing as sleeping through the drive for Sam.

Sam awoke with a start, feeling nauseous as hell. Without any forewarning, he started a fight with the blankets, and got onto all fours as soon as he was free. He scrambled towards the end of the load-bed

The very moment, Dean thumped with his hand against the car-cap before going after his little brother.

“Whoa there.”, the older Winchester burst out, eyes huge.

Sam's hands were searching the tail-gate furiously, until the found the handle's destination and yanked it open. The flap went down with a brutal sound at the force of Sam thrusting it open and the car coming to a halt at the same time.

Wires screeched.

If it hadn't been for Dean's arms, latching onto his little brother in the pretty much same moment, Sam probably would've gotten roadkill.

“Dammit” Huge hands were trying to fight him off for a moment, before the man in his arms froze and the retching began.

The kid emptied his stomach's ingredients onto the concrete – which wasn't a lot, but definitely enough to mess up the blankets and mattress. And Dean. If they've gotten in the way.

“Easy there, tiger.” Dean laid a hand between Sam's shoulder-blades, intending to offer comfort. “Get it all out.”

The momentum in which this all happened, left Sam breathless, gasping for air in between dry-heaves. He was shaking. And cold. _So cold._

His head felt like one heavy lump of stones, a piercing pain lancing through his forehead with every heave.

“'m here, kiddo. - Easy.”

“What happened, boys?” Bobby was coming around the corner, getting to a halt before he could step into the pool of sick. He shared a look with the older brother. “Balls.”

“Just got sick.”, Dean was supporting most of Sam's weight now, holding him up, so he wouldn't topple over and kiss the concrete

Sam's fingers uncurled slowly from the edge of the load-bed, lifting his hand and showing Bobby his palm in an attempt to tell him that he was _okay_.

“The hell ya' fine, boy.” He laid his rough, calloused hand on Sam's forehead, just because. It was an old habit to reassure himself. He's always done that when Sam was sick as a kid. Just to be sure that it wasn't more than only being sick. “Saw a motel a couple of miles back.”

Sam shook his head. _No_.

“Dude. - Thinkin' of Bobby though. He's _old_.”, Dean grinned at the old man. “He needs his rest.”

Bobby stared daggers at Dean. Usually he wouldn't let him get away with cocky retards. Not at all. But in fact – he was tired as hell and Dean wasn't wrong, he was getting _old_.

_***DW & SW***_

They rented two rooms. One with a queen-sized bed and one with two queens in it.

Sam was lying on the bed farthest from the door, on his side, the bin-basket nearby – just in case. He still felt sick.

He's never gotten sick from driving so far. Like ever.

Sam tried to reassure himself, that this was just because of the circumstances. He was still recovering. He would overcome this, just like they always did when one of the brothers got hurt … or worse … DIED.

Though everything they've been thru so far, together, or on their own, and after that whole Demon-blood-thing, they haven't been very close.

They've had had their disagreements before, but ever since Sam had broken the final seal and with Lucifer on the run, Dean had been different. _It felt different._

And now? Since he woke up from the coma, Dean had changed. _Again_. As if the whole stuff before hadn't happened at all.

It all felt so _off_. With Dean hoovering over him, following him like a shadow, and if that wasn't already enough, the whole mother-henning started to get out of control.

Maybe the hunt-gone-wrong had been a sign. Some kind of fate, willing him to stop him from whatever was to come next. Or it had been just BAD LUCK.

He didn't know.

Sam just felt so _desperate_. He felt, as if he didn't belong. Maybe he had never belonged anyway. Maybe he should've just died out there … A part of him didn't understand why Dean had cared anyway. Their relationship had been on edge ever since and sometimes he felt like his big brother had wished that he was dead.

What made the whole now-situation even weirder.

Sam had been willing to get over with – somehow – at the hospital. To forget about the past and take the accident as a new start into better times with his unrelated brother. After all, they've got only each other. - Well, and of course their friends, but that wasn't the same. Because the thing between the both of them was _special_. A bond which none of them could break, no matter how hurt they were and how angry at each other they could get.

Ever since they've left the “safety” of the hospital, the world felt _cold_. Sam felt _uneasy_. All these irritating thoughts about how this was supposed to work out for all of them.

Sure he wanted to get back to business as soon as possible, but he was uncertain if he'd ever be able again to do _his part_ of the job.

Sam wasn't dump. He knew that – maybe – whatever injury he had to his brain, his life would probably change – not just because of being mute.

And Castiel most certainly wouldn't want to heal him after all he's done. And _maybe_. Just _maybe_ it was better that way.

Might as well, the vertigo wouldn't go away. And his headaches … well, they had eased, but they still hurt like a bitch. He'd be a liability for anyone who'd decided to work with him on a case. He'd get people killed. _He'd get Dean killed._

That was what bothered him the most.

Not that he wasn't able to form a simple syllable, or that his body looked like a mess.

“Got us some grub.” Dean tore his little brother out of his thoughts by slamming the motel-room-door shut.

“What took you so long?” Bobby took one of the paper-bags, claiming it to be his.

“ _But_ ...” Dean watched the bag being pulled from his hand. “ _Pie_ ….”, he whispered longing watching Bobby pulling out the burger.

“Sam?” Dean tore his gaze from the bag and Bobby putting the piece of pie on the table. “C'mon. Food's getting' cold.”

Sam sighed thoughtfully, before he joined his friends at the table.

_***DW & SW***_

Outside the motel, hidden in the darkness of the night and woods, a shadow was moving, it's cloven hooves not causing any sound when it moved forward and out of the shadows. Revealing a dark silhouette surrounded by arcane darkness and though see-able if someone would've been attentive enough.

Piercing blue eyes, staring at the motel-room the boys were holing up, slowly morphing into orange ones.

_***DW & SW***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me some bacon? pie? chocolate? ... something? anything? kudos maybe? comments?


	5. CHAPTER 5 Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:
> 
> Outside the motel, hidden in the darkness of the night and woods, a shadow was moving, it's cloven hooves not causing any sound when it moved forward and out of the shadows. Revealing a dark silhouette surrounded by arcane darkness and though see-able if someone would've been attentive enough.
> 
> Piercing blue eyes, staring at the motel-room the boys were holing up, slowly morphing into orange ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah well, sorry, this one's a short chapter, but hey, tomorrow or the other day I'm going to update again with "chapter 6 ~ where we are". 
> 
> Bobby get's to tell them what he thinks, and well ... things are getting worse ...

CHAPTER 5 ~ Surrender

The lights in the motel-room were off.

Dean was sound asleep on the bet closest to the door.

Sam slept deeply on the other one, moonlight caressing his tender features, as invisible smoke poured thru the keyhole and pooled on the wooden floor. The mist shifted, floating towards the bed farthest from the door.

_***DW & SW***_

They were back on the road, short before the dawn of day.

Everything was still calm and the fresh fallen snow in the parking lot showed that no soul had been moving outside yet. At least not a human one.

Sam settled down in the load-bed again, with Dean at his side, where he fell asleep again very soon.

Dean rested beside him, one hand covering Sam's lower arm. _First_ , because he had to know that he was still there with him. He needed the reassurance. A warrant, that Sam was were he belonged to. Right there next to him. _Second_ , because if his little brother would stir, he'd be right there before Sam'd pull a stunt like yesterday.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam slept thru the rest of their drive until they reached Bobby's salvage. He seemed relaxed, soft puffs of air ghosting along Dean's hand where he was resting his hand on Sam's lower arm.

 _Sam was dreaming._ He lived thru it all over again. - Thru all he's been putting Dean thru so far. Being the demon's chosen, dying, coming back, opening and closing the devil's gate, demon-blood, Ruby, betraying his so-called brother, kick-starting the apocalypse.

A spot of absolute darkness settling down deep in his very heart, soul and mind, _poisoning_ him.

All over again.

Dean eventually drifted off too.

Neither of them noticing their hidden passenger riding shotgun next to Bobby.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam was standing in the bathroom, over the sink, glaring at the reflection in the mirror. He saw himself. _Truly himself._

_Not Sam Winchester, the hunter._

He saw SAM WINCHESTER the _freak_. The _monster_. The _failure._ The _**betrayer**_ _._ In all his gruesome shapes.

He didn't see his face.

What he saw was a mirror of his soul. The darkness lingering there, ready to get the world to an end. He saw the shadows of Satan in his orbs.

Sam ate, but he wasn't hungry. Sam drunk, without being thirsty. He laughed, but he didn't feel like being happy. He didn't cry either … because crying also required feelings.

Feelings he bottled up behind a heavy iron-door in his mind. A door he didn't want to open ever again. Because behind it, there wouldn't only be the good stuff. There'd be all the bad things too. The darkness which carried them within – a darkness he didn't like.

_***DW & SW***_

It didn't go past Dean, that something was off about his brother. Ever since they've left the hospital.

Physically he seemed to recover pretty well. He wasn't all sweaty and exhausted after taking on the stairs. He was cleaning their weapons from Baby's trunk, read, did research for Bobby. Even his sudden headaches seemed to even out.

He just didn't talk. Couldn't talk.

They've tried. Sam was trying. _He was trying so hard …_

_***DW & SW***_

Sam sat on the couch in Bobby's library/living-room reading in some ancient book, not really minding the words written, more sunken in thoughts.

The sandwich was still untouched, which Dean had brought him hours ago. Only the Whiskey-Bottle – once full to the brim – was now half-empty.

Dean knew the kid was _dealing_. With whatever.

Sam only drank whiskey when he had to deal.

Dean debated with himself, if he should call him on it or rather not.

Maybe rather not, but he did it anyway: “What're you doing?”

Sam looked up from the book blinking, rising it a bit. _I'm reading._

“Sure you are.”, Dean's lips pursed at this,. “That's not what it is. You ain't reading. We both know that. So why don't we black out the no-chick-flick-rule for once and you're telling me what's up with you?”

Sam was rather surprised. Dean usually didn't want to talk.

He shrugged. What could he tell Dean? What could he tell him without revealing _himself_ to the other man.

“Look. - Something's bothering you.”, Dean pointed out, driving right home.

Sam sighed, put the book aside and reached for his notebook and the red crayon “ _Nothing_ ”, he wrote and showed it to Dean.

“That's not nothing. You're brooding. - Mind sharing?”

Sam scrabbled into the notepad again. _Why would you care?_

He knew it was unfair. Dean was trying. But Sam couldn't help it.

“What?”, Dean's voice high-pitched. He shoved a stack of books aside and sat on the couch-table “Dude.- You're off ever since we got here. What's up? Sulking doesn't help. Sharing is caring, Sammy.” He used his most cocky grin on the kid. Not that dirty one … more a seducing one he used on girls all the times to get what he was aiming for. “Just for the records. - I care because I'm your _brother_. We're not actually blood, but we're family.”

Sam ignored it, because it hurt. They weren't family, he knew that. Families weren't meant to betray one another like he had.

 _Apocalypse?_ _Demon-blood?_ Sam wrote down, holding it up. Demon-blood underlined. Twice.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He inched closer and leaned in. “That's in the past. - We can't change that.” _If you weren't my brother, I'd kill you_ , echoed through his mind.

It didn't come out as soft at it should had. His words dripped with scorn for what Sam had let loose on the world. It sounded like: _Don't bring that shit up again. We're gonna deal with it. I'M gonna deal with it._

Sam shrugged, laid the pad and the crayon aside, continuing to stare back down at the book.

“All hell broke loose – Look. what do you want me to say?” Dean ground out through gritted teeth. His temper changing in a matter of seconds. “Fine.” He clapped his thighs and shot up. “You're not gonna tell me. Fine. - Work it out yourself. _I've tried.”_

Sam scoffed out a breath in despair. That wasn't exactly the way this needed to go down just now. Tears were burning in his eyes.

“I'm trying Sam. - I'm trying to forget you betrayed me. I'm trying to get over it.- You're not exactly easy helping, you know?.”

_***DW & SW***_

Usually they were sharing a room on the upper floor. The only one which was not stacked with supernatural crap Bobby was collecting.

That night, Sam stayed in the living-room. He had fallen asleep after finishing the whiskey-bottle.

_***DW & SW***_


	6. CHAPTER 6 ~ Where We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:  
> That night, Sam stayed in the living-room He had fallen asleep after finishing the whiskey-bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've taken a couple of quotes from the show when it comes to Bobby in this chapter. You're going to recognize them anywho. ~ They don't belong to me. And I couldn't have said it any better.

CHAPTER 6 ~ Where We Are

Outside the window, bluish eyes were moving, darkness slipping into the house, covering Sam like an unseen blanket of despair, agony, betrayal and fear.

_***DW & SW***_

The upcoming days in Bobby's residence were rather uncomfortable. The brothers were avoiding each other.

_***DW & SW***_

Eventually Dean and Sam got their shit together again. - Bobby wasn't all that awesome about how the both of them were acting around each other. Besides that, it hurt the old man to see the both behaving like _frustrated chicks on their period_.

So he had them sit down. He poured them some whiskey. And himself a double one.

He asked them, if they were under the impression that family's supposed to make them feel good? Bake them an apple pie, maybe? That family's supposed to make them miserable. That's why they're family.

And that they should suck it up finally, because he loved them like his own. But sometimes the two where the whiniest, most self-absorbed sons of bitches he's ever met.

And that's all he would say before leaving the two of them in the kitchen.

_***DW & SW***_

They sucked it up.

They weren't audibly apologizing to each other, but they did something that was as good as that. They would watch McGyver together with a bowl of chips and beer.

They would go through their arsenal together. Would prepare ammo and clean up together afterwards.

_***DW & SW***_

_Sam looked sick._

Dean wasn't sure if it was because the kid was pushing himself like a mad man, or because his restless sleeps lately.

Dean had awoken to muffled sobs and silent crying a couple of nights in a row now. He had moved over to Sam to ask what his problem was. - And when he did, he had to realize, that Sam was crying in his sleep, with this frightened expression on his face, his body rigid as if in a death-grip of the devil himself.

He wasn't quite sure what he should do about it. So he left him be.

The both of them have been thru a lot of shit in their lives - They've been tortured, hurt, killed .... So why would Sam _break_ now? He seemed okay in the hospital. Sure, he wasn't well and still hurting, he had his struggles, but there was this THING hovering over the kid.

It felt like some kind of darkness lingering allover him, radiating from him.

Surely – physically – Sam hadn't have worse, but it's been months and he had regained most of his strength back. He had also suggested to take on a hunt.

A _simple_ salt & burn.

Something easy to get back into the saddle.

_***DW & SW***_

"Dude. - What the hell?", Dean slammed the motel-room-door closed behind him, dropping his duffel on the floor. "You _insane_?"

Yeah, it's been a _simple_ job. Yeah, it was just a salt and burn. Of course it didn't exactly go as planned, but then again, when does it ever? There'd always be some kind of issue about a job. This time it hadn't been different, so you could tell it was a simple salt and burn with the usual intricacies.

Except for Sam going all shit-crazy in a very stupid way.

Everything went south, as soon as the ghost had sent a whoosh of air to blast the salt-circle away, which they had sat up around the grave before they had started digging.

So, they got a bit flung around like always. They got roughed up – so did the ghost too by the way. But taunting the damn creature, just so not to come for Dean was one irrational idiotic idea.

Sam could've used the opportunity to salt and burn that motherfucker, just like they always did whenever some stupid son of a bitch was interrupting their fire-fest-funeral.

But not this time. Nope. Obviously Sam had decided to go all rouge on that one, luring Caspar away from Dean.

Sure, Sam was protective of his brother, even if it sometimes didn't seem to be as excessive as Dean's protectiveness when it came to his little brother.

Besides, it was Dean's part to be a over-protective idiot when it came to his brother and not the other way around. Sam wasn't supposed to act up like that during a hunt. He had thought they were clear about their roles.

Sam stemmed his fists into his hips and glared at Dean. " _Nope_."

"You could've gotten yourself killed, Sam. - What were you thinking?", he rambled, kicking the duffel to his feet.

 _"Saving your sorry ass."_ , Sam mouthed.

"It was a ghost, Sam" Dean sighed rubbing worried wrinkles on his forehead. "Nothin' I can't handle by myself. You forget how this works? The ghost goes after me, and you're supposed to burn it."

" _Backup_.", Sam mouthed, continuing to glare at his big brother. _"Deal with it."_ Actually he wanted to tell him even more about his thoughts, but since he couldn't force words from his mouth, this had to be enough said.

"You can't just change our roles during a hunt. - A ghost goes after me; you burn it. - Caspar comes for you, I burn it's bones.", Dean declared rather angry. "Shit like that can get the both of us killed."

Sam huffed out a breath. _"Role-Change."_

"You're going bad-shit-crazy on our next gig? You're out." The older hunter used his drill-sergeant-voice

 _"Out?"_ Sam's lips formed into a thin line, his head making these funny movements whenever he'd pull a bitch-face, but actually without bitch-face.

"Yep. - **Out**. - Whatever is going on in this head of yours? It's messing things up.", he returned. "You messed it up on purpose. - This wasn't a bad-day-hunt. You DECIDED to go against the rules."

Dean Winchester was pissed.

_"There's no RULES."_

"Sure there are. _Like_ ... no sleeping when you're concussed. Always watch your back. You puke blood, you gotta get to the ER. You know? The usual stuff?"

" _Fine_ " Sam's nostrils flared in dismiss. He yanked his jacket back on, zipped it up and brushed back Dean when he was on his way to the door.

The older hunter put his hand on Sam's chest to hold him back. He was so not going to leave now. "Where do you think you're going?" Dean looked up at the taller man, warning him.

" _Out_."

"You ain't going anywhere. - First I gotta check on you." Both eyebrows rose.

Sam's lips formed into a " _No_ ".

"The hell you are. Get on the bed.” He watched Sam's agitated expression closely. “Humor me."

Sam turned away from his brother's touch. " _Humor_ _ **me.**_ ", he mouthed and with that he was out of the room and gone, a loud bolt of the door being slammed shut marking his leaving.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam didn't go far.

He just needed some fresh air. Needed to clear his head. He knew he's been ridiculously dump back at the cemetery. He surely knew the rules and THEIR guidelines of hunting. He also knew that he had fucked up. And what he also knew was, that this was not the Sam he used to be. At least not the one he knew.

A part of him had wanted the ghost to go after him, and an even darker part of him had dared it to get him killed in the process.

If Dean hadn't burnt the ghost's remains in time, he wouldn't be around anymore. Because he had just laid there in the dirt, waiting for the ghost to come for him, to rip his soul out of his human meat-suit

Actually this fact should have been bothering him. He should have been asking himself what was wrong with him. But it hadn't and it still didn't bother him in the slightest. Even if something would be actually wrong with him.

Whatever it was he was thinking, or how he was acting ever since the hospital, it was _okay_. Well, it wasn't just okay, he was _fine_ with it.

Because whatever this was, _he deserved it._ Sam deserved to be in pain. To feel the agony each night over and over again. This was all his fault. His alone. 

Sam eventually found a nice place at the back of the motel on the stairs which led to the apartments upstairs.

He sat down on the cold steel-stair and let his head sink into his hands. Ever since he was struggling with himself in that way, he knew something was wrong. And that it have had to do something with the hunt-gone-wrong in the woods. Something told him that, only if he could remember, that he'd get to the bottom of this whole mess going on with him at the moment.

Though, somehow, every time he tried to poke at the memories and the feelings bound to them, something horribly dark took control, and occupied his mind ... something told him that this wasn't him. That this was not how he should feel in any way.

And then there was _Dean_. Always worried about him, always protective, though he knew that Dean was only sticking with him, because he was pitying him on hardcore-mode. Not being capable of uttering a single word at all was a hell of to deal with at the time being. - Specially because Sam liked to pronounce his thoughts audibly.

He was the one used to talk everything out. Dean was the one supposed to suck everything up until he couldn't take it anymore and burst.

And now their roles in this were switched. And Sam couldn't handle it.

Not in this way.

_***DW & SW***_

The thing lingering in the shadows reached it's invisible claws out towards the Winchester. It's darkness seemed deeper, heavier, more palpable. The creature was dripping with negativity, buzzing with bad and heavy vibrations away.

It was stronger. Harder to ignore. And it was so close to what it wanted. Yet still so far away from finally devouring the human completely.

_***DW & SW***_

Dean Winchester rubbed his temples with his pointing-fingers This was becoming ridiculous

Sam was so off lately.

He's been since the hospital.

And somehow – he couldn't get around the way Sam was behaving. He seemed heavy-hearted and of low spirits at all times. There wasn't a single wake moment, the kid didn't seem as if something was not eating at him. And when he seemed to be asleep it was all the worse.

It even looked like he felt sorry for eating the sandwich, just because it was a sandwich and he felt sorry for it being eaten.

Dean didn't know how to deal with this. The kid has never been someone to give up, or to be depressed longer than absolutely necessary It's always been Sam seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. He's always been the one knowing that there was another way around the dead end. And now Sam didn't anymore.

He seemed to drown in a giant pool of darkness and self-pity ...

Dean _loved_ him. Not only like a brother ... it was more to it. It was a deep obeying love rarely humans were allowed to share with one another. And he felt bad about it. About all of it, because he wasn't supposed to feel like this for the man who he himself had chosen to be his little brother.

Maybe that's why he couldn't handle this shit like the way he was supposed to. Dean Winchester was all bad-ass and awesome, but dealing with that crazy little thing called love, made him go insane ...

Dean wasn't sure where those feelings were coming from. They grew up together like best friends, even like part-time-brothers whenever he'd be at the salvage. He had first noticed those feelings when Sam went with him on their first own hunt together without Bobby or John.

It's been back then, when he recognized those bright shining hazel-colored eyes and gorgeous dimples when Sam was laughing.

That was quite some time ago now. Close to ten years ...

Dean had always reminded himself, that these feelings would ruin everything the both of them had together. He had to control his aching heart, not to pour it's feelings all over, whenever he'd watch Sam out of the corners of his eyes when he was riding along with him in the impala, sleeping. He always had to keep distance between Sam and himself when the kid came out of the bathroom, only clad in a towel around his hips.

How bad the Winchester had always wanted to touch him. - _Really_ touch him. The way he wanted to, his soul longed to, touch the younger man in ways no brother ever would.

Maybe that was why he was so hard on Sam.

Pushing him away instead of telling him was the only way to get around these feelings. Because telling him may would destroy their so-called brotherly-love-thing that was going on between the both of them.

It was way easier being a dick, than telling Sam the truth about how he was feeling...

_***DW & SW***_

Sam came back late that night.

Dean seemed to be fast asleep in his bed.

Sam was careful not to make unnecessary noises while moving around the motel-room and bathroom. He took delicate care, not to wake his brother, wherever avoiding another argument, or even a single look of the older man.

Dean may had his eyes closed. His breaths were even and his body relaxed. But his senses were on high alert. The hunter didn't allow himself to fall asleep, as long as Sam wasn't back again from wherever he's been.

_***DW & SW***_

Two towns over, was another job right up from their alley.

A Strigha.

A week later they took out a vampire's nest in Hulett, Wyoming.

That was when things really started to get ugly for Sam Winchester.

He wasn't _just off_ anymore. He wouldn't only not follow their rules. He was straight up careless.

The kid was behaving self-destructive like when it came to the point of letting a vamp rip out a junk of flesh from his shoulder.

Dean was furious. It had looked like Sam was going for it, as if he was LETTING that fang rip into his flesh. Lucky him, the creature had missed all the important arteries ... or rather not lucky ... depending on what was the point of view for Sam in this.

Other than killing the vamp off, he'd loved to kick Sam's ass all over the place.

He's been cursing all the way to the Impala, hauling Sam's ass on the back-seat, since he's passed out from blood-loss and shock right after the vamp had bit him bloody.

"What the fuck, Sam?", he's been yelling gazing into the rear-view mirror as he brought his Baby to life. "Are you fucking **nuts**?" and a whole lot of "Idiot, Jerk, Bitch, damn fucking kid and Moron."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel so tight, white knuckles under crimson-colored skin stood out where his knuckles were.

_This was all so damn wrong._

_***DW & SW***_

Sam sat in the passenger's seat, slumped against the passenger's door, his head leaning against the cool glass, staring ahead, seeing nothing special.

 _He was empty._ A giant hole of darkness carried along where once his soul's heart was meant to be. **Nothing had meaning, and though it meant all so much.**

Dean was pissed at him, and he had all right to do so. He had brought the both of them in danger ... _again_. It couldn't have just cost _his_ life, but also his brothers. - Sam couldn't take loosing his brother to death, no matter if he himself was dying.

Once again, Dean Winchester had saved his sorry ass from getting ganked.

The fang had gotten him good, still not good enough. Somehow it seemed as if he wasn't supposed to leave this world ... At least not by the hand of someone or something else ... Lucky Sammy, he knew how to get out of this whole mess by himself …

At least he could've gone down in a fight ... but now? What were the odds?

Dean wouldn't get tired of saving him as it seemed ...

If only his brother would know about the feelings he's had for him since so long. If only Dean'd eventually SEE, that Sam was sick and dirty and filthy, and all the other things he told himself.

Dean on the other hand ... well, he was _done_ with this shit.

Dealing with a Sam like the one who sat right next to him ... that was above his acceptance of normal. This wasn't Sam. _Not his Sam._

This Sam over there had a fundamental problem he didn't have a clue on how to solve it. Not a spark of consideration, that this could possibly be something supernatural ...

He's found a motel just outside the lines of Hulett, where he decided that they'd lay low until he's talked to Bobby.

This wasn't something he could take on by his own. Supernatural stuff – that wasn't a problem but these human-things, were nothing he was used to deal with.

As soon as Sam hit the pillows, he was out for the count, still dealing with blood-loss, painkillers and a mild concussion ...

Dean stored their duffels under the bed closest to the door and pulled his phone from his pocket.

For a moment he stared hesitating at it, eventually he flipped it open.

"Bobby, I need your help." The Winchester pressed SEND and dumped the device beside him on the bed.

_***DW & SW***_


	7. CHAPTER 7 ~ Suck it up, Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:   
> "Bobby, I need your help." The Winchester pressed SEND and dumped the device beside him on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!  
> This is getting real bad ... Dean's real mean ...

_ **Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:** _

"Bobby, I need your help." The Winchester pressed SEND and dumped the device beside him on the bed.

CHAPTER 7 ~ Suck it up, Sam

When Sam woke up, it was dark outside.

As soon as he came to awareness of his surroundings, and of what had gone down the day before, about the hospital and Dean getting him here. He remembered Dean being pissed off, not speaking a word with him ever since they've checked into the motel. About the darkness tainting him and kicking off a turmoil of unhealthy feelings and thoughts.

_Sam felt so desperate._

Desperate to feel the good stuff. To feel calm and settled. He needed to feel something GOOD. Because he couldn't take feeling the BAD anymore. The darkness growing bigger and daring to taking him in all. Swallowing his soul in one giant gulp.

He _loved_ Dean. He fucking _loved_ him.

It wasn't just being fond of him, or liking him like a brother. _\- Not anymore._ It was more … and as desperately he tried to stop those feelings, he couldn't.

He couldn't change the way his heart made a flip, whenever those emerald-green eyes looked at him fondly. How freckles “sparkled” at him, whenever he'd catch a glance at Dean when sunlight laid upon his features.

_He couldn't go on like this_ … Without telling him, without _showing_ him.

Because this was him, right? This was Sam Winchester. And he'd be damned if he couldn't be himself at all.

He knew – or at least thought – it was wrong. All so wrong. Not just that he wasn't into men at all … also, that they grew up like brothers, were like brothers... it shouldn't matter that they weren't from the same blood.

Though here he was … longing for someone he couldn't have, could he?

Sam stood by the bed furthest from the door, staring intently at his brother.

Dean was sunken in his dad's journal, going through it, looking for nothing special, just browsing with no special intent.

He needed to get his thoughts straight. He knew that wasn't easy at all with Sam close to him. Oh man, how he loved that kid. He loved him more than he actually should. Even when they weren't related, Sam was practically his brother. And a _guy_. A fucking guy. He wasn't supposed to have the hots for a guy. Specially not for Sam.

_He was his fucking brother._

Sam'd kick his ass. He'd kick his ass himself. Just because.

Damn, Dean wasn't supposed to think that way, was he?

How he longed for the younger man's lips, how he felt that tickling sensation whenever Sam's hazel-eyes went all bright wherever a source of light caught in them. And that wasn't all about it. It felt so much _deeper_. So much … _richer_. Like it was just the two of them (well it actually was, since they lived in each other's pockets for so long) against the world.

They weren't just friends. _Brothers_. Being with Sam meant so much more to Dean than just this. And it was wrong. He knew that. Specially in Sam's condition.

The kid's been so off about everything.

He was sure Sam was crying in his sleep. Was crying when he was awake – even when he tried to hide it, Dean could tell. He knew Sam inside and outside.

“Yep?” Dean kept flipping through the journal, not daring to look up and give himself a chance of dreaming about himself and Sam. This was so not going to happen – ever.

Sam hesitated. He cleared his throat, hoping that Dean'd look at him. He sighed as he walked over to the table by the window. #

“What is it, dude?”, the hunter cocked both eyebrows, feeling Sam's burning gaze on him.

Sam's jaw clenched. He debated with himself once more if this was a good idea. After all he was about to risk their fragile relationship and ruin everything what was left of it. But maybe, there was just a small chance, that Dean'd feel the same for him, that it didn't have to end in a bad way.

Sam's hands were shaking.

“Sam?”, Dean was finally looking up, locking eyes with him.

Sam's hand came forward and settled on the older hunter's cheek, pulling him onto his feet with just that little gesture of his thump against Dean's lips.

Dean felt his knees go weak.

This was … well … _weird_? And so damn _good_. He wanted to ask Sam what he was intending to do. But Dean already knew. He could read it in Sam's face, in the stricken look of his eyes, the way his forehead creased.

“Sam?”, it was a mere breath. _A plea._ Telling him with his looks not to.

Sam didn't care. Not at all.

He tipped Dean's chin up, their lips less inches apart.

Dean felt panic rise deep inside of him, his eyes widened.

And then, there was Sam. SO close. So damn freakin' close, the kid's lips ghosting over his and then he was kissing him.

Dean didn't want to … and though he _wanted_.

First it happened in slow motion. Soft lips against his, warm breath against his face. A firm body pressing up against him, and the sensation of being _one_. Becoming _whole_ again … For a brief second he felt himself leaning into the kiss, going with it, floating along towards a higher mind.

If it hadn't been for Dean Winchester being a complete asshat and idiot. His head set a machinery of gears and wheels in motion.

This was so wrong. So damn wrong in so many fucking ways. It had to stop. Now.

The hunter's instincts kicked in, and that was all it needed. He brought his arms between himself and Sam and SHOVED. Just SHOVED.

Sam … obviously taken aback from the sudden attack – despite the brief feel of Dean wanting this too - stumbled backwards, tangled up in his own feet and fell, hitting the wooden floor with a hard thump.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”, Dean brushed over his lips in an attempt to get Sam's taste off of them. He was furious. This was not supposed to happen.   
For a second, his damn head had thought about kissing back was a good idea. _Actually kissing back._ As if that was a good thing. “You're … ” Dean glared at the man on the floor and snarled. This was going to hurt. And it was supposed to hurt. It should hurt Sam so bad, he wouldn't try anything like that ever again. - Saving the kid from himself or from Dean, he wasn't quite sure yet … “Are You _nuts_? - You're going after your _big_ _brother_? That's _what_ you want? _Fuck_ your brother? - Visions. Hellgates. _Betraying_ me with a demon, freeing Lucifer and now what? THIS?” Dean's voice was filled with anger and a spike of fear. “You know what, Sam? You're sick.” He stared at him, disgust welling from his eyes like waterfalls.

Sam just sat there.

Frozen.

Pale.

Hurting.

Not able to move – not even blink.

He was shaking.

His eyes becoming watery.

He would just let it happen – probably it was supposed to be like this.

At least now he knew for sure. All that there have ever been was brotherly affection – which would make his decision even easier now. _Now that he knew for sure._

Dean gritted his teeth. For a moment he just stood there, staring daggers at Sam.

He knew that there wouldn't be any kind of response to this. He knew this had must hurt like a bitch. This … well done Dean Winchester … one of your masterpieces in bashing out at Sam. Punching people who you love – and who love you – right in the face.

“You know what?”, Dean hissed through gritted teeth, “ _I'm out._ \- Suck it up, Sam and don't cry like the girly bitch you are. We're out of here by dawn. Get your shit together. I'm gonna dump your sorry ass at Bobby's.”

_Mission accomplished._

With that, Dean Winchester, grabbed his leather-jacket and left, smashing the door closed, leaving Sam in tatters.

_***DW & SW***_

The door to their room opened, swinging softly with a rough creak.

“Sammy?”, Dean's voice cut through the room like a sharp knife. “We need to talk.” His voice broke.

Dean Winchester wasn't gone long. An hour or maybe two …

He had bought a bottle of whiskey, but couldn't muster to open it and drink himself into salvation.

After the first shock about actually being kissed by Sam, and intending to kiss back, and the whole thing with acting like he wasn't okay with the feelings his so-say little brother had obviously tried to share with him, the ugly fog of being an asshole had faded pretty fast.

That's been what he wanted for so long. The opportunity of having Sam like this. Not just as a partner in crime, a hunter-buddy, a best friend and a brother. But also like this. Like a soulmate, like a lover, like just EVERYTHING.

And then he simply pushed him away, calling him a _freak_. Not that it was the first time he had Sam given that name, but though … this time it was worse than all the other times before …

He shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have said the things he's said. - He didn't mean it, and he prayed to god, that Sam knew that, or that he'd give Dean at least a chance to explain himself. Though the Winchester doubted it. He's been very intriguing and clear about what he had said back then.

Dean looked around.

The lights have been on. The door not locked.

Sam's laptop was set up on the table.

Clean clothes lay stretched out on the bed-cover of the bed farthest from the door. In it's middle was Sam's brown leather-duffel, ingredients splattered out all over it.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. “Sam?”, he asked, his hunter-senses tingling. The hunter tilted his head to the side as if he could hear better by doing that. Slowly he moved towards the bed, drawing his gun while he moved.

He checked the scattered content. Sam's gun was missing. - Which didn't actually surprise him, since they've always at least one on them. Though, the one missing was a gun Sam barely used. He called it his backup.

The motel-room was empty.

Dean checked on the bathroom, it wasn't locked either.

The tiles were dry and Sam's bag with the shaving-gear lay at the sink's brim – untouched.

His eyes narrowed, his mind began to speed up, recalling the past hours, recalling Sam's reactions to him, his demeanor

“Fuck.”, he cursed through gritted teeth. A sigh fell from his split lip. He let the hand with the gun drop to his side, checking the room again, as a turmoil of thoughts broke loose in his mind, winding up to end in a hurricane

_Sam was gone._

_***DW & SW***_


	8. CHAPTER 8 ~ GUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:   
> Sam was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERING CONTENT

_CHAPTER 8 ~ GUN_

The things he was going to do to the kid as soon as he'd find him.

Sam wasn't supposed to just freaking _vanish_! He wasn't supposed to go out, when Dean Winchester finally got his shit together and was about to pour his heart out to him.

So here he was. In front of the motel.

Baby was still in place … So Sam had a maximum of two hours ahead of him – afoot.

 _Where would Dean Winchester go, if he was Sam Winchester?_  
The boy wasn't the type of man to go sulking into a bar. He wasn't the one to get drunk either …

Then again … Dean had never thought of Sam feeling this way for him, so did he even know what kind of man Sam really was?

Then there was his behavior.

The changes he's been through during the past months.

Therefore, Sam could've gone into a bar to get trashed. He could've gotten himself something from the liquor-store, but then again Dean must've met him on his way back.

So what would Sam Winchester do? Where would he go, when he's hurting? Physically and Mentally?

This Sam may not act like the Sam he's known. On the other hand, maybe he did?

So …

There was a bar and the liquor store.

A diner down the street.

A park.

The woods which were closest to the motel too … Dean figured about a thirty minutes walk though …

So the woods it would be.

Sam's always had a thing for green stuff and nature and animals …

And it was a place, Sam may figured, Dean wouldn't come across him easily.

_***DW & SW***_

Gladly Sam hadn't thought about covering his tracks, or he hadn't cared. OR, he didn't think about Dean coming after him eventually. The younger Winchester had left a trace of foot-prints, cracked branches and messed up undergrowth on his way into the woods.

It hadn't been hard to catch up on it – not with all the half-melted snow and mud around the motel.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam was sitting with the back towards him on the edge of a fallen trunk. He was holding a gun in his hand. HIS gun. The nuzzle digging into Sam's jaw.

“Sam?” A wave of fear washed over the Winchester, stopping in his tracks for a moment, before continuing to move further forward but slower now. “What're you doing, kiddo?”

A sob fell from Sam's lips, he didn't move. Not a all.

“What's this about?”, fear crawled into Dean's voice. Whenever there was something like fear showing in the Winchester, his voice would grow even and low. And when it came to Sam, she turned into a warm caring sound with worry carried along.

He moved slow, tentatively towards Sam, crawling over the fallen trunk.

Sam's eyes were closed, his face covered in dried tears, and new ones.

“Sam? - Open your eyes.”, it was mere a whisper, when Dean kneeled down before him. “C'mon. Look at me.”

Sam didn't obey, he couldn't. He couldn't look Dean in the eyes. This was not how this was supposed to work. Dean was supposed to stay at a bar, not returning to the motel and most of all not following him.

“Sam.”

There was a warm calloused hand on his cheek, a thump rubbed a fresh tear away. “Sam.”

Sam's pointing-finger on the trigger tightened, daring to pull it. A sob wrecked through him.

Tears were stinging in Dean's eyes. “Please _Sammy_.”, a heartbreaking plea, when his hand came to rest on Sam's on the weapon. “Sam.”, there were spikes of urge carried. “ _Don't_.”

He sounded as if he could understand. As if this was the final breaking point as if to forgiving Sam for all his failures, could save him. “Sam.”

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and took a deep shuddering breath. “ _Go away._ ”, he mouthed.

“I'm not going anywhere. - I'm right here with you. I won't let you do this.”, Dean's lips were quivering when he talked. Tears burning in his eyes even harder. “Give me.” His finger grazed over Sam's on the trigger. “Let go, Sammy. Please.”

Another sob. Tightly closed eyes as if he was debating with himself if he should get it over with or giving up. Leaving it to Dean what was to happen next.

“You're not going to do this.” Dean meant it. He couldn't loose Sam. He couldn't loose him like this, he couldn't loose him ever. This was all his fault. He's pushed the kid away, instead of hugging the living shit out of him. “Let go.”

As soon as Dean felt Sam's grip on the weapon ease, he wrenched it from the younger Winchester's hand. With a click the safety was on and it was scattering over the muddy ground landing somewhere in the ditch.

Sam collapsed against Dean, all fight draining away the very moment.

Dean cradled his head in his hands, daring him to look him in the eyes. But Sam kept his eyes shut. No need to witness another one of his failures.

Then the very next moment, there were lips covering his. Soft cushions pressing against Sam's. Soft and warm. Reassuring and intriguing. “Don't.” Dean kissed him again, all firm and more desperate this time.

Sam's lips moved as if he was saying something.

Dean silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his sob. “You don't get to do that. Ever.” Dean was growling, forceful, close to snarling. “You hear me?” Dean pulled away.

Sam's eyes were open now. Trying to avoid Dean's searching look. But he couldn't.

“Look at me.”, Dean demanded, a single tear rolling over his cheek. “Whatever this is. - We'll manage it. We'll get through this together, you hear me?” There was pure force of determination in his emerald-green huge orbs. “You're never gonna try that again. Understand? Forget what I said. I've been a dick, okay? I didn't mean it.”

_It's in my head_ , Sam mouthed. _I can't._

“You can, baby. You listen to me. You can do that. I'm with you. WE can do that.”, Dean said, forcing himself in between Sam's long legs to get closer to him and pulled him into a firm hug, all his desperation and uncountable other emotions laid into it. “Don't you dare and do that to me.”

“We're gonna figure this out.” He paused in an attempt to compose himself. “I'm sorry for what I said back there. I didn't mean it. - Not a bit. Nothing of it, you hear me?”

Sam attempted to pull away, but Dean wouldn't let him. “I need you to know that I didn't mean it. - I've been a dick. Okay? I was just so ...” He couldn't find a fitting word for what exactly he's been. “Whatever you wanna call me, yeah?”

Icy fingers ghosted over Dean's neck.

Sam buried his face into the older hunter's shoulder, tears welling up again.

_***DW & SW***_


	9. CHAPTER 9 ~ VOID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:   
> A snarl raged through the woods. Like the one of a wild animal missing out on it's prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since the last chapter was THAT SHORT, I decided to post chapter 9 right away tonight. Hope you guys enjoy ;)   
> THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART for all the KUDOS and COMMENTS :) You keep me going, folks!!!

CHAPTER 9~ VOID

Back at the motel, Dean practically shoved Sam towards the bathroom, and into the shower-stall. He didn't care, that Sam was still in his clothes, when he turned on the hot water. He didn't care that he himself got wet either.

Once the water had the optimal temperature so to warm Sam up slowly, he stripped him down to the boxers.

He didn't care. About nothing.

He didn't feel. Didn't feel anything but Sam.

Sam was supposed to be _his_. From now on he wouldn't treat him the way he had treated him so far anymore. He'd do everything to make this right. He'd be there – like really be there. Dean didn't know how he was supposed to handle this, but he would.

Either he'd get his own shit sorted out and handle this like the Winchester he was, or he'd loose Sam forever. Whatever this was, the kid was dealing with, there was no way he'd leave him to it, like he did so far.

He'd really be there for Sam. He'd take care of him, love him, until death and beyond. No matter what. Hell, Heaven or high water.

Sam had tried to argue about being undressed by Dean, but Dean wouldn't let him. Not at all.

“Back in a sec.” The Winchester stepped out of the warm spray of water and undressed in record-time. His and Sam's clothes landing on a heap on the ground beside the shower.

Dean was all bare-ass-naked when he reentered the shower.

Sam was on the tiled floor, his back pressed against cold tiles, his long legs folded against his chest and face buried in his knees. Shivering, crying, sobbing for dear life.

“C'mon.” Dean sat down beside him, scooting over, so he was flush against Sam's side. “ _C'mon, Sammy_.” A silent plea to forgive him his rueful words and nasty behavior.

Sam let himself be guided with the back against Dean's chest, the hunter bringing himself in between the cold tiles and Sam. He tugged Sam as close as possible against himself, having him sit in between his legs and moving them so, that his little brother was right in the spray of warm water.

“You're going to be okay. I promise.”

Dean drew his fingers thru Sam's wet – already overgrown – mop of hair. “This is going to be okay. I promise. I'll take care of you.” Feeling the warmth of Sam's body against his. Feeling SAM's delicate – though manly – skin pressed against his own. Feeling all the things he hadn't allowed himself to feel so far.

Now that they knew their odds, they would work this out.

Dean would work on this.

The phone – which still remained in the back-pocket of his undressed jeans – buzzed for about the fifth time now. “ _Robert 'Gruffy Bear' Singer_ ”, was to be read on the display.

_***DW & SW***_

Outside the motel-room, furious glowing eyes pierced through the darkness of night. No one and nothing was taking it's prey away from it …

_***DW & SW***_

The water ran cold soon.

Sam had calmed down eventually.

A small trail of blood mixing with the water and running down his chest and stomach, as where the bandage on his shoulder had come off due to the water. They've done a good job at the clinic sewing it up.

After all it had looked, as a hungry bear had bitten Sam in an attempt to rip his arteries out.

Dean's jaw rested on Sam's neck, his arms still wrapped tightly around him. “We should get out. Water's getting' cool.”, he whispered close to Sam's ear.

They did.

Sam still seemed to feel out of it, half of his mind in the here and now, and the other half somewhere else … So Dean dried him off, handed him a pair of sweats and a shirt to put them on.

It drove right home, digging deep into Dean's chest, that _he_ had caused this. Well knowing that Sam wasn't himself lately, he's gone right at him, hurting him even more than he already was. This was his fault.

He should've been there for him. - Just like he always said, that he'd be there for Sam. Because if he had, he'd noticed the fragile state the kid was in. He hadn't been going on hunts with him.

Sure he had sensed, that this whole behavior was off … somehow he had ignored it. Hoped that it'd go by by it's own, as soon as they were back on the road again.

And now here they were.

Sam's a mess. Physically and mentally in a worse state than ever before.

Just because Dean's been his self-righteous, stubborn self.

When Dean was done dressing himself, he took Sam's hand in his. The younger man was just standing there, staring at the tiles and his bare huge feet, taking deep calming breaths. The older hunter guided his little brother outside and towards his own bed.

“Sit down.”, he said softly, guiding Sam all the way, until he sat on the edge of the bed.

He didn't dare to look at Dean.

“Have to re-patch the shoulder though.”, Dean kept his voice even and soft. His hand never leaving contact to Sam. “Least we need is you getting an infection on top of everything else.”

“You know … It's okay to not feel good … after ...” Dean sighed, he sucked at the whole gonna-show-you-love-shit. “What I said. - It wasn't fair. I know you know that too. I'm a stubborn bastard. You know me better than anyone else.”

Dean continued to talk while getting the Sasquatch back out of the shirt and getting the first aid kit. “You've always known me better than anyone else.- I'm sorry. Fucking sorry about what was going on the past couple of months.” Somehow he had to explain himself to Sam, even if it wasn't exactly easy for the Winchester. “I was just … _scared_. - Scared because you've changed. That you've been hurt because of me deciding to go on that hunt, even when you told me we shouldn't. - I was a dick because I couldn't let my feelings take control.” Dean was about to bandage the shoulder carefully, while he continued: “I love you, Sam, you know? I've … I think, back then, when we've had our first solo-hunt together … things somehow changed for me when it came to you. - It's not like I'm gay, or that I'd like to fuck guys … or let them fuck me ...” He kept on speaking, without filtering it like he did most of the time. “It's just you, you know? _You and me._ \- I think I'd like that … I think I've been a dick, because I couldn't handle it. All of it. Telling you what I feel, that I've a crush on you. The way you might have reacted to it. - Not wanting to be around me anymore …” He helped Sam into the shirt. “I'm sorry I freaked out when you kissed me. I didn't mean to …”

Now Sam looked up at the standing man before him. Huge tired and sad hazel-eyes locking with his gaze.

“ _Help me.”_ , Sam mouthed.

Dean's hands found Sam's face and cupped it gently. “We'll figure it out. Like we always do.” All husky gentleness and warmth.

Dean guided Sam backwards to lay down. Then he laid down beside him, his arms open, so to welcome Sam into his embrace.

Sam hesitated, eyeing his brother closely. _He was so tired._ Anything could've happened right then and he wouldn't have cared at all.

Besides … he supposed, that by no later than in the morning, everything would have changed again. So may as well he'd go with it. Just for now. Only for tonight. - Maybe he'd feel save and loved again. Maybe he wouldn't dream about all the bad things he's done and probably would do in the future.

_***DW & SW***_

They slept in.

They weren't leaving by dawn, like Dean had said yesterday.

Sam still slept, while Dean lay awake beside him, still holding him in his arms, watching Sam's peaceful slumber. He was caressing the younger man's back with gentle touches, as if they were the only reason holding him in this healing state of sleep.

Sam looked so damn tired, even as he lay there sleeping. He looked exhausted. _Wasted_.

Gentle exhales of air ghosted over Dean's chest, warming his heart.

Yesterday, it's been a close call. All of it. Him fucking up. Seeing Sam with the gun, ready to put an end to his life … If only Dean had notices how bad this really was. - How much worse it had become …

He placed a gentle kiss to Sam's forehead, breathing him in. Taking in the odor of something sweet, covered by wood and moss …

There was the flutter of wings.

A sudden presence beside the Winchester's bed, a tall trench-coat-clothed figure standing there all of a sudden. His heart-rate spiked

Dean took in a sudden breath, which caught in his throats. His first thought was to grab for the knife, which was supposed to be under his pillow. - Which he had removed though and placed it on the nightstand last night.

“You called?”, a very familiar voice echoed clearly audible through the room like a hammer-fall.

“Dammit Cas!”, Dean spat out, whirring around. With that, he also tore Sam out of his peaceful slumber, causing the younger man to sit upright, reaching under the pillow where his gun was used to be.

“ _Cas_?”, Sam stared at the angel bleary.

Blue eyes darted forth and back between the both of them. He cocked his head to the side, obviously making assumptions about what he's been interrupting. The angel seemed slightly irritated.

Dean sat up groggily and groaned. “You mind getting' out of my ass?” He rose both eyebrows, while staring up at the familiar intruder.

The angel took a step back.

“Where the hell've you been? I've been calling for you? Thought you're supposed to be my wing-man?”

“I never have been in your ass, Dean. You don't have wings.”, the angel answered, still eyeing the both of them intently. “And. I have been busy in heaven.”

Dean rolled out of the bed and rubbed over his face.

“Caaaaaasss...”

“Why you were calling?” The angel was one asshole. A cool asshole, but an asshole. At times. At least now.

“Well, Suppose you're about seven months late for that. You know?”

“We are trying to locate Lucifer. - This is more important.”

“Dude … cut the crap.”

Castiel tilted his head to the other side, locking his eyes with Sam's. “You are hurt.”, he stated, his eyes narrowed. “It is a very dark place where you are, Sam.”

“Dude ...” Dean sighed. All he needed now was a tone-deaf angel to point out the obvious.

Sam lowered his head in shame, staring at the comforter.

“Unless you can't fix him, shut up, Douchebag.”, Dean grumbled. “

“I can, indeed, fix Sam's wounds. - But I can not fix the darkness within him.”

Dean looked up, curious and surprised. “Darkness?”

“Yes. - It is too old. I am afraid.” Castiel took a step closer to the bed, and without forewarning, he placed his hand on Sam's scalp, bluish-white light beaming from where their skin met.

Dean was wide awake in the flash of a moment and back at Sam's side at the very moment. “What the hell, Cas?”

“It indeed is old.” The light faded, and the angel withdrew his hand. He looked surprised.

“What are you talkin' about?”, Dean burst out, checking Sam over with his looks and hands and giving Castiel a warning glance, telling him that no one was laying hands on Sam Winchester without his permission. Not even to do such a thing as healing.

“ _I'm fine.”_ , Sam mouthed, patting Dean's hands away.

“Dude, you just got _angelified_.” He caught Sam's face, eyeing him closely.

The kid still looked horrible.

“Are you okay?” Dean needed to be sure.

Sam nodded. “ _Fine_.”

“Samuel is infected.”, the angel stated after giving the older Winchester time to make sure his procedure hadn't caused any harm to the younger Winchester.

“What? _Infected_ with _what_?” That couldn't possibly be true. He had noticed if SOMETHING had infected Sam.

“I can not tell for sure. You may return to your grumpy friend who is hoarding broken vehicles.

The angel was right up in their private space again, putting his pointing-fingers to each's forehead.

The very next moment, the Winchesters found themselves in Bobby's kitchen, on the floor, due to a very uncomfortable landing.

“Son of a bitch!” Bobby whirred around flabbergasted. “Wanna give me a damn heart-attack?!”

“If you may excuse me.” And with that there was the flutter of wings heard, and the angel was gone.

“What the hell? - I've tried to call you boys for hours?!” They sure as hell would need to deal with an old ranting Grinch.

Dean rose his middle-finger, so to be allowed to speak up.

“Where have you been? - You can't just … send me a damn manage that you're needin' help, and don't pick up your damn phone Dean.”

The older Winchester rose his finger a bit higher to get Bobby's attention.

“Remind me to ward the place against angels.”

“We've been busy.”, Dean eventually rasped out.

“I was worried sick 'bout you boys.”, Bobby said in his very own gruff manor.

“We've got a problem, Bobby.”

Sam got to his wobbly feet before Dean could actually protest. At least he was about to protest even if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to protest against.

The old man stopped his rambling right then. It wasn't Dean's words which stopped him, it was his look. The dead-serious look only Dean Winchester was capable of putting on.

He was barely on his feet too, when he felt Sam's large hand on the small of his back, steadying himself.

Dean's hand was on Sam's chest in an instant to stop him from swaying forward.”Whoa there, kiddo.”He pulled the closest chair from the table and turned in around in a smooth motion, placing it behind Sam.

The very next moment, Sam felt himself sitting, feeling nauseous and dizzy.

“What happened?”, Bobby eyed the brothers curiously. “What trouble 're in this time?”

“Bobby, water?” First Sam, then the rest.

Bobby did as he was told – and he usually didn't do what he's been told. - Not that easy at least.

“Sam?” The gruff man handed Dean a glass of water.

“Sam?” Dean squatted down to get a better look at his face, his hand searching for Sam's cheek behind ridiculously long hair. “Sammy? Talk to me?”

“ _Sick_ ”, the younger Winchester mouthed.

“Breathe thru it, babe.”, Dean said softly. “Just … try, okay? Try to breathe through it ...” He knew from his own experience, that getting zapped around by an angel wasn't all that fun. “It's over in a moment. - You'll see.”

Old Robert Singer was fairly surprised as by what was actually happening in front him. It took him unprepared, and therefore he couldn't utter a single sassy comment on what he was seeing.

“ _Move_ ”

“Where?”, Dean asked, tilting Sam's head up to get a better look at him. “Couch?”

Sam nodded.

“Would you ...” Dean sighed, looking up at Bobby. “A blanket maybe?”

The old man nodded.

Dean maneuvered Sam on the couch in the living-room. Bobby came with a pillow and the requested blanket, draping it over the young man.

Then he went to get the glass of water, which Dean had left in the kitchen and put it on the table.

“You tellin' me what's this about?”, Bobby asking tentatively, all the time watching the two of them carefully, obviously trying to figure out what was going on between the both of them. The change between the boys was nearly palpable in the house.

Like something fundamental had shattered those old walls.

Dean sat down at the edge of the couch, eyeing Sam intently, as sleep was pulling him under.

“Sam's _sick_.”, he answered calmly, reaching out for the kid's face, so to caress it gently with his fingertips, brushing a bang of hair out of his left eye. “Cas said something about something old infecting him ...”

“You couldn't tell me that yesterday, you Idiot?” Bobby kept his voice low, so not to disturb Sam while drifting off.

“Yesterday we didn't know.” He filled Bobby in in what had happened since they were back on the road together.

Bobby sat in his recliner now, staring ahead. Behind his blank expression wheels were rattling away with what creature could have possibly caused this.

“What do you think it is? - Something old, that's infecting people?” The old hunter frowned and pursed his lips. “Could be anythin' and everythin' …”

Dean shrugged. “We need to figure out what exactly this thing does. - How it infects and where and when ...” Yep, so far they had squat on this one.

“Since we've a walkin' evidence right here” Bobby looked over at his sleeping son. “We've to ask him at some point.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah … I know ..:”

“Did he tell you anything? - That he's been feeling weird?” Because the kid sure as hell looked like crap. - Had ever since back at the hospital.

“No … he's been just … Sam … - I think … It started to get bad a couple of weeks after he's out of the hospital.”, Dean thought out loud.

Bobby huffed out a breath. “Seven months?”, he asked.” Could be everythin'. Some spirit. Maybe even a ghost … Demon?”

“There's to ectoplasm. No sulfur … I don't think it happened at the salvage. Either in the hospital, I've secured his rooms.”

“Except it came for him when he's been transferred?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, Bobby had a point.

“So what now?”

Bobby glanced at his book-shelves. “Left upper corner's lore referin' to ancient spirits. Right lower shelves 's lore including creatures. In between it's demons and everything that's got to do with them.” He pointed at the area with most of the books.

“Guess 'm gonna look on the internet then ...” Because – as much as he loved the kid, books weren't exactly his thing. Sam was the walking encyclopedia of weirdness here. And Dean was his awesome counterpart.

_***DW & SW***_

Night moved over the salvage.

They still had squat on whatever it was, that was taking a hold of Sam.

Dean was now going thru the books too. - After all there was nothing fitting to find on the world-wide-web that could've possibly matched on what he had witnessed matching Sam's behavior.

_***DW & SW***_

_Three days later, and they still had nothing._

Dean had talked to Sam about what Castiel said, what they had found out so far (which was nothing), collecting clues about who and what this creature was supposed to be.

Sam was still off. Staying at the Salvage did change nothing. The kid still seemed depressed, brooding, and whatever darkness was growing within him, seemed to eventually take it's toll on the young hunter.

Bobby had locked away all the weapons which he had hidden everywhere in the house – just to make sure Sam wouldn't try something stupid. So they were locked in his very own supernatural-proof panic-room, the only key existing buried somewhere on the junkyard.

_***DW & SW***_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on “When Autumn Falls”:   
> Bobby had locked away all the weapons which he had hidden everywhere in the house – just to make sure Sam wouldn't try something stupid. So they were locked in his very own supernatural-proof panic-room, the only key existing buried somewhere on the junkyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit ... I've made the monster up ... all the way ... there's no lore about this one ... BUT, you might know it's offspring ;)

CHAPTER 10 ~ With A Little Help

Angel-wings fluttering, and at the blink of a moment later, there was Castiel, standing right in the middle of the living-room.

“Whoa, look who's decided to fly by.” Dean scuffed and shook his head without acknowledging the angel.

“The creature which infected Samuel. Dean, It is an hybrid.”, he stated clinically. “It is the outcome of a Succubus and a Leshiye.”

That drew the hunter's attention towards the angel as he sipped on the glass of whiskey. “So a … Lychee? And a … Succubus?”

“No. A Leshiye – an ancient russian demon-spirit.”, the angel explained. “It is **old**.”

Dean took another sip. “How do we kill it?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, eyed the hunter for a moment and answered then: “I do not know how it is to be killed.”

“How do we track it then? Bind it? Maybe catch it?”, He was fierce. But not too fierce.

“I do not know that either.” Castiel turned his look towards the ceiling as if he was receiving something on Angel-Radio. “There is no lore about this creature in Heaven. - It is only mentioned once.”

Dean pondered that. “A one-time-thing?”

The Angel tilted his head to the other side. “There is nothing written. But I suppose it is.”

Dean nodded to himself. That were good news … And actually very bad news. Because no-one had ever killed something like it.

If this creature was one of it's kind, no one would know how to fight it. How to kill it. How to rid the world from it for good …

“Heaven does know about your world of monsters. - We only memorize them, when they are bound to hell.”  
Dean's eyebrows furrowed. “What's that mean?”

“This creature … It is luring humans into self-induced death.”

“So?”

“So it is a sin. Their souls are bound to hell.”

Dean thrust his jaw forward, his lips pursing. The actual news setting off a machinery of wheels in his head.

There had to be a way.

Sam wasn't going to _die_.

He wasn't killing himself.

And for the sake of it, he was so not going to _Hell_.

“Means, Sam needs a babysitter, until we've figured that one out?” Dean's eyebrows rose, looking at Castiel intently, daring him to read what was written all over his face.

He caught onto that. “Dean. I am an Angel of the Lord. There are matters of higher importance than you and your brother.”

“I'm Michael's Sword.”, Dean stated. “Heaven can't have to loose me.”

“And Samuel is Lucifer's vessel. - If he dies, you are no longer of importance to us.”

Dean shook his head, eyeing the angel in disbelieve. “Jesus. - Get the broom-stick outta your ass, Cas.”

“I do not ...” It took him a moment to realize, that Dean didn't mean it literally The Angel rolled his eyes. “

“You suck at being an Angel, Castiel.” Dean huffed out. “Aren't you supposed to be cute, nice and play a harp on a cloud?”

Castiel frowned, deep wrinkles on his forehead. “You may call this Creature _Ncu'Lech_.”

“Nice Cas, real nice. Something else you didn't tell me about it?” Dean was actually pissed. - So whoever was standing between him, a cure and his brother were about to get kicked into the ass. Even the pretty Angel, who once rose him from perdition.

_***DW & SW***_

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair in damp strands hanging down, covering his face. A towel trapped over his lap to cover himself.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in his night-gown. He crossed the room towards his brother in a slow pace, like a tiger approaching it's prey.

“You okay?”, Dean asked, as he stood in front of him, looking down at a dark mop of hair.

Sam's head rose, catching onto Dean's look. He gave him a weak smile.

The kid always looked so vulnerable these days. Dean could tell he was on the verge of something.

Dean smiled back down at him, his fingers entangling with Sam's hair, brushing it out of the younger man's face.

Sam leaned into his touch when the hunter's calloused hand came to a rest on his cheek. He sucked in the warmth of his touch, the feel of being save and sheltered by nothing lesser than the older man's loving embrace.

Dean bowed down, his nose nuzzling Sam's, tempting him to search for Dean's lips with his.

“You know … I'm watching out for you, Sammy.” it wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Sam knew that Dean was watching out for him. He ever had and he probably would always do until they'd die an uncertain death. Despite all his failures. Despite everything he's done. Despite that he had betrayed his brother so many times, had fucked up things.

And still, here he was, sticking with him.

Dean urged the younger man onto the bed with gentle force, until he lay sprawled out beneath him. “It's going to be okay.” His voice was soft and calm, a tender touch against his raw nerves, soothing and caressing without touching. “Everything's going to be fine.”, he whispered against Sam's lips.

Sam knew it wouldn't be okay. Nor fine. It would never. Because it hadn't been, right now it wasn't and when it came to the future … It wouldn't be anyway else there.

Though, for the moment this was the best thing that ever had happened to him except for Dean coming to get him in Stanford.

Dean sealed his lips with Sam's, endless emotions lingering there.

The hand, covering Sam's cheek, traveled towards his jaw, his neck, coming to a rest above Sam's aching heart.

There were no words needed. There weren't even words for what Dean was telling him right now.

“I love you.”, Dean whispered. “I love you, no matter what. - You are mine.” _And no one was going to take that from him._

Sam kissed him. Drawing him towards himself to fuse their bodies – their mind – into one beeing. His raw soul seeking shelter.

And Dean giving it to him. Always giving Sam what he needed the most. _Deep obeying love._

Dean pressed himself against Sam. Covering him, even though he was the shorter one of the both of them. Taking him in. The feel of their skin against each other's, the warmth of their bodies.

Sam felt save. For the first time in a long time.

That night they slept side by side ever since the incident in the woods and the night at the motel. Dean watching over Sam in his sleep, not allowing himself to fall asleep for hours, until exhaustion took over, and dragged his mind and body into a sweet slumber.

When he woke, it was day.

Sunbeams letting Dean's freckles dance on his face.

They've been entangled on Sam's narrow bed the whole night. Now Dean was laying there alone, on his back, covers tugged up to his chin.

“Sammy?”, he croaked out, his gaze bleary and fogged from sleep. “Sam?”

He looked around the room, taking it in, processing what he saw within seconds. The discharged towel on the floor beside the bathroom-door, Sam's missing clothes from the chair at the other end of the room.

Which kept Dean no longer bound to his dazed state of sleepy mind. He was up and dressed in mere minutes. Driven by worry and a angst about what could've happened while he slept.

Alone the fact, that he hadn't woken up while Sam sneaking out from under his protecting grasp.

Sam was busying himself in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Castiel stood in the kitchen-door, observing.

The Angel was watching over Sam ever since he had left the bedroom. He followed him to the washing machine, the library – he was with him on every step. Which was quite annoying.

Sam gave him a look. Asking him without words what he was doing.

“Dean asked me to be your babysitter”, Castiel stated clinically, like he always did. It seemed like the angel had no emotions at all.

Bitch-face number one for today, telling him to fuck off.

Dean appeared at Castiel's side the very moment. He nudged Cas in the shoulder, saying good morning.

“When did you get up?” Dean's voice was raspy.

Sam shrugged, turning back towards the stove to stir in a pan with scrambled eggs.

Concern covered the older hunter's feature, while he walked towards his brother. “Did you sleep at all.”

Sam nodded. Though the answer came a bit hesitantly.

“No. I have reference that Sam did not sleep last night.”, The angel threw in, uncovering Sam's lie without hesitation.

“So … we're lying now?” It sounded lesser reproachfully than concerned.

Sam took the pan from the hot plate and turned around, so to face Dean and Castiel. Dean was right up in his face, his arms wrapping around the kid's middle.

“ _Not important.”_ , Sam mouthed. He had learned not to explain himself with more than in a simple and short form. Even though he would've to say a lot more sometimes.

“It is.” Dean was actually pissed about Sam lying to him, but he also knew, that he didn't want to trouble Dean anymore than absolutely necessary “No lies.”

“ _Fib_.”, Sam mouthed.

“Yeah well, you're not supposed to fib at me either.” He tugged him closer a bit before stepping back.

Sam didn't want to talk about it, discuss it. He was so tired of it all. His body was tired. His brain felt drained from everything but the urge to put his hand on the hot plate and see if he'd catch fire by doing so.

He knew this was a ridiculous thought and deep down he knew this weren't his thoughts.

“So, breakfast it is?” Dean went to get four plates. “Where's Bobby?”

“Outside.”, Castiel answered. Obviously irritated by the men's change on how they were interacting.

Dean looked back over his shoulder. “Mind getting him for breakfast?”

The flutter of wings was heard and the angel was gone.

Dean placed a tender kiss to Sam's neck. “I want you to be honest with me. - We can't handle this, if you're not honest.”, he said, “you're our clue. - Whatever it is that bothers you, you need to tell us.”

Sam nodded shortly.

He knew. But something was telling him not to – that this was his fault, and that he was a burden to the people around him, and that he didn't deserve to be cared for, to be loved …

_***DW & SW***_

_Days went by._

The three hunters and the angel were digging the law.

Sam was barely paying attention to what he was reading, his miserable thoughts keeping him from catching a clear few on things.

The others knew that, though they let him be. Dean feared, that if they'd keep handling him with kid gloves, it wouldn't be any good.

“Got it.”, Bobby called out, disbelieve in his voice. “I've got that son of a bitch!” He laughed out loud. “Dammit.”  
  


They looked up, staring at Bobby, so to listen when he'd start to recite whatever what written in the book he was hoovering over.

“Leshy, Leshii, Boruta, Lesovy, Lesun … there are a couple of names for this one … **Lechies** is a demon who appears in the _Dictionnaire Infernal_. He is depicted as a portly man with the head and legs of a goat.

Lechies is said to be a demon of the forest. He is generally believed to have been inspired by the Lshye of Slavic folklore." Bobby took a deep inhale. "Ncu'lech – is the offspring between Leshies and a Succubus. ~ Of which we've all had our experiences with so far..." Bobby shot the older Winchester a knowing look. "So ... Ncu'Lech is known to be one of a kind. Here he's referred as a demonic spirit, causing and feeding on despair and anguish. It's muting it's victims. It's invisible, doesn't leave anything behind but bodies, after torturing them, sucking them dry and in the end they kill themselves, and their soul's beein' dragged to hell."

Again, the old hunter had to take a breath. "It feeds on it's prey for weeks, sometimes months – depends on how good the juice is, it's drawing from the vic."

Bobby looked up briefly, eyeing Sam rather worried for a moment, then looked back down at the book. "Blah blah ... The demon-spirit roams the woods, infecting the lost ones. It needs to stick around it's victim so it can feed though."

Dean cocked his eyebrows and looked around. "So it's here? _Right now?"_

The angel followed Dean's example.

"Gotta be." Bobby was rather uneasy with the idea of having a creature roaming his house he couldn't see, nor that he didn't feel anything out of the usual. "So ... it's listening?"

The old man's bushy eyebrows narrowed as he kept reading, extracting information between ridiculously elegant written lines. "It's practically untouchable ... But ... there's written something about wardings, witches used back in the day to protect their loved ones from the spirit." He kept on reading.

The other's attentive and waiting for more information.

"Warding's gonna be drawn with cat's blood."

"Why's it always gonna be somethin' fugly?", Dean grumbled and got to his feet, ready to start with his newly found task of getting his hands on cat's blood.

" _No_." Sam reached for Dean's wrist and grabbed him tight before he could head for the hall.

Dean looked down at his brother questioning. "Hey, kiddo. When it comes down to you, or some cats, I'll pick you."

Sam frowned.

"I will procure the needed ingredient" And with a drawn angel-blade, Castiel was gone.

"So ... Anything else? How do we kill it?" Dean tore his gaze away from Sam and towards Bobby.

  
  


"We gotta need to see it, before killin'." If it was to be killed in the first place. Maybe it wasn't. And if so, may they could bind it somehow to something.

  
  


" _Bait_.", Sam mouthed towards Bobby.

The old man frowned. His frown deepened after another moment of overthinking. "First we're putting up the sigils. - Gonna buy us some time."

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Sam eventually fell asleep. He was bone-tired, and keeping himself awake was a fight he couldn't win at some point.

Dean stayed close, while the kid was resting on the couch. It made the neck in his hair stand up only thinking about the fact, that the creature was right there with them at the moment. And he could do nothing about it.

  
  


Bobby went to get some old scripts and books from the attic and upstairs.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Despite, that Sam was not alone, the unseen shadow of Ncu'Lech was present, caressing Sam's scalp fondly as it sat beside the young hunter on the couch. Luring him into a world of bitter-sweet dreams and unimaginable agony.

It was so close. And it knew, that it hadn't much time left. It wasn't the physical kind of monster, which'd snap it's fingers, or fling his hands to get the human's protectors out of the way. For Ncu'Lech it wasn't an easy task, to feed his never-ending hunger for dark emotions and souls.

It took weeks to draw someone under the surface of his mind.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

Outside of Bobby Singer's realm, the barks and howls of wolfish creatures were heard.

Brown eyes flashed in a fiery red. A bulk silhouette patted the hound's head. Soon this very special soul would be theirs, and with it, a whole new kind of evil would rise ...

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Dean had eventually drifted off while reading. Books had that effect on him.

He didn't notice Sam waking up and strolling into the kitchen. He didn't hear Bobby returning from his search for books and scripts.

"Dean? Where's Sam?" A forceful nudge into his shoulder and agitated words tore him from a peaceful place in his dreams, where no monsters had an effect on his current life and where it was just him and Sam and the Impala.

  
  


The hunter startled, looking around frantically, not quite sure what was going on. What had happened, and why the hell Bobby was punching him. "Yeah. I'm here. 'm here."

  
  


"I can see that you're here. Where's _Sam_?", Bobby asked again, the loud thump of books hitting his table echoed thru the building.

"He's ...", Dean looked over at the empty couch. For a moment he reminded himself of not wanting to mother-hen the kid, but then again, these were desperate times ...

Dean shot up from the chair and rubbed over his face. "Bathroom?"

"You tellin' me, boy?"

The house was silent.

No movements, no shifting of atmosphere. - The air was DEAD.

Dean took off in a sprint, only led by instinct. The kitchen was empty. The basement was locked up and sealed. So he had to be wherever upstairs or out in the yard.

"Bobby, you takin' the yard. - 'm gonna head upstairs!", he called and already claimed the first stair under his heavy boots.

He heard the front-door open behind him and when it slid shut, he was already on the upper floor, aiming for Sam's and his room.

He burst through the door, his head swirling with multiple destructive thoughts as he couldn't spot Sam wherever on the bed, or anywhere in the room.

Next stop BATHROOM. Gladly the bathroom couldn't get locked up since the key was missing.

Dean ripped the door open brutally and spotted Sam in an instant. He sat curled up between the small space between the sink and the wall, a bloody kitchen-knife in his left hand, his right arm covered in deep ugly cuts and blood. _So much blood._

  
  


Without a word, the older hunter was right beside Sam the next moment, ripping the knife from the kid's hand and throwing it out of the bathroom-door.

"Sam." It was all his fault. His alone. He shouldn't have fallen asleep. He was supposed to look out for him, to not let him out under his sight. Dean had promised him that he'd watch over him. "Dammit."

Ever so carefully, Dean cradled Sam's wounded arm in his hands, turning it carefully towards the dim light to get a better look at the already caused damage.

"This needs to stop.", the hunter muttered to himself, while Sam kept staring ahead, face – once again – covered in tears and blood and snot.

Sam's hands were trembling. His tortured mind mirroring in his bloodshot, weary orbs. _"I need to do this._ ", he mouthed as he tried to pull his arm out of Dean's grasp. " _I have to. It has to stop._ "

"Yeah. It has. But not like this, Sam. Not like this." It was no plea. It was a resolution, a command. "I'm gonna kick it's fugly ass and stick it's head on Baby's hood for good measures."

Dean had barely ended what he said, when Castiel appeared right beside them, a jar with red thick liquid in his hand.

Without a word, the angel moved forward in his aesthetic demeanor and put two fingers to Sam's forehead, ordering him to fall into a deep slumber.

"What're you doin'?" Dean patted Castiel's hand away, but it was already done.

"I willed him to sleep.", the angel answered. "I assess it is a lesser quede."

Dean huffed out a breath. Of course it was a lesser _quede_...

  
Castiel healed the younger hunter's arm, so that not a single scar was left behind.

"Mind teleporting my Sasquatch-little-brother on the couch downstairs?", Dean asked, since it seemed to be impossible to get Sam out of the corner without help, and since Castiel was here, why should he wrestle him out of the corner all by himself?

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

Some of those old scripts and books revealed how to bind the creature, even it couldn't be killed as it seemed.   
The creature was capable of breaking common wardings, was immune to most of spells. It was invisible due to traveling the Void. There though was a ritual and a bunch of spells to try.

First they needed to get the creature out of the Void and into the same dimension as they were, to give it a body. Once it had a body they would be able to wound it with a brass-dagger or knife which was dipped in dead-man's blood and the blood of it's recent victim.

For once, those rituals and spells didn't seem to have something about them, which would come lashing back at them in any way.

  
  


Bobby got everything ready for the first spell, which was supposed to blow the Ncu'Lech out of the house in case it was actually latching onto Sam right now. After that, they had to be quick to set the sigils up and secure the doors and windows with the ashes of an angel.

They had to do this smart. And they had to do this quick.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


  
  


***DW & SW***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there ... I'm currently writing on a sequel to the "Bruised Bloody Broken ~Pilot" I did a while ago ...   
> Actually I'm close to finishing the sequels "Aftermath" and "Close Your Eyes" ...   
> "Aftermath" is some easy come easy go inbetween pathing the way for:   
> "Close Your Eyes" That one's gotten a lot darker than I thought, so I am not sure if I am supposed to share it as it is once it's finished ...  
> Do you guys think you can take this? I mean ... it's going to hurt like a bitch ... I'm not from the crying folks at all, but it tingled my nerves a bit too ... 
> 
> Anyway, one chapter to go on "When Autumn Falls" ...


	11. CHAPTER 11 ~ Driving Out The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on "When Autumn Falls":  
> Bobby got everything ready for the first spell, which was supposed to blow the Ncu'Lech out of the house in case it was actually latching onto Sam right now. After that, they had to be quick to set the sigils up and secure the doors and windows with the ashes of an angel.  
> They had to do this smart. And they had to do this quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... I guess that's it ... the End ...  
> I'm sorry (not sorry) for ending it like this ...

CHAPTER 11 ~ Driving Out The Devil

  
  


An hour later, the spell to cast the creature out of the building, was said and the wardings were in place.

Sam was still down under, seemingly sleeping calmly.

Dean let Sam have another couple of angel-induced slumber, letting him sleep off the horror of the past couple of hours. The hunter figured Sam'd need it more than anything else at the moment. Besides – whatever was coming at them in the close future – Sam needed to catch his breath to pull this thru without drowning.

  
  


What no one of them had mentioned so far, but everyone knew was, that – however they were going to kill that bastard – it would be Sam playing the bait. They had a clue how they were going to lure the creature into their trap, though no one would say it out loud. Not just yet. But if they didn't find another way to get the creature right there at the very precise moment, they wouldn't get a second try.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Though Castiel lifted Sam from the angel's influenced slumber, he carried on sleeping until the next morning.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Outside of Bobby's house the Ncu'Lech was furious. Screaming, howling, clawing at the door, fighting to be let in again.

It had this one last job, before eventually being freed from it's enslavement to hell . . .

Inside Bobby's house is was silent. No sounds heard.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Bobby, Castiel and the boys eventually managed to put a spell together, including four brass-daggers tipped in dead-man's- and Sam's blood.

Since they weren't sure how they could possibly kill the creature, they decided to trap it and bind it inside a spell-box.

  
  


With the absence of the demonic spirit, Sam seemed to do better – physically and mentally. The kid even woke up to having appetite like a starving man, looting the fridge and pantry on his search for something edible.

Sparks of darkness still lingered in his hazel-eyes, but they weren't as present as they had been before. He seemed to be more at ease now, his thoughts never that dark and shadowy as all those months back.

  
  


Sam was sitting in the kitchen, devouring a sandwich, when Dean entered, who smiles joyfully at his man.

"Dude. - Gonna leave us something for dinner would you?" He patted Sam's shoulder.

Sam wrote on his pad and showed it to Dean. " _Nope_."

The hunter chuckled. "Thought so, Babe."

" _When can we get started?_ ", Sam asked by writing it down.

Dean's expression darkened. "Thought we'd give it a couple of days ... you know ... until ..." _... until you don't look like crap anymore ... until you're better. Stronger._

" _Tonight_.", he mouthed.

"No Sam.", Dean rose his hand to stop him right there." You're in no condition ..."

" _Over_."

"It's not coming inside. - The wardings are holding.", Dean said. "We're save. YOU are save.

_"For now."_ Sam glared at him, before turning towards the pad and started writing again. " _IF I am getting better before we do this. IF I am doing better. It'll know it's a trap._ "

  
  


Sam had a point, Dean was aware of it, but he was willing to risk that, before getting his beloved brother in any more trouble.

  
  


" _One shot. No second try._ ", Sam wrote, underlining _One shot._

He was right. The both knew that. Besides, Castiel had pointed it out, when Dean told them that they should wait a while before trying this.

" _It's gonna be okay."_ , Sam mouthed, making sure that Dean was looking at him instead of the note-pad. " _I can do this._ "

Dean sighed. "I know you can. - But I actually don't know if _I_ can do that.", he had to admit, that he was frightened by the thought of delivering Sam to their _creature of the week_ on a silver-platter with no confirmation that this would even work.

  
  


_"Trust me, Dean."_

Dean seemed to think about it. "So ... tonight?"

Sam gave him a curt nod. " _Tonight_."

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


_Tonight_ came earlier as Dean had pictured it.

They sat up the ingredients for the ritual in the living-room, to make the creature catch-able before they were able to lock it away.

Sam eyed the dagger forged of brass. It was practically blunt, so no cutting tomatoes with it. Though it was supposed to hurt the creature on a whole other level.

"We're doin' this?", Bobby asked, seeming uneasy about this like hell.

Dean was actually trying to play it cool, but failed too.

Sam was a mess and though he needed to get it over with like yesterday. Having that darkness linger outside the house, feeling caged, he didn't want to wait up anymore. It was about time to end this.

Castiel seemed relaxed. Too relaxed for the other's liking, but he was an Angel. A higher being with not yet the meaningful connection to these humans, which he'd have in a couple of years.

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


Sam stood by the front-door, the dagger's tip digging into the sigil which kept the demonic spirit outside.

"You' alright _?",_ Dean asked, his voice heavy with worry. He needed to know that Sam was still in, and that he hadn't decided to wait a couple of days though. Dean knew the kid wouldn't change his mind – even when he hoped so.

  
  


Sam gave him the best reassuring smile he was capable of and nodded. " _Let's kick it in the ass."_ ; he mouthed, his smile forming into a dangerous grin.

Dean stepped up to him and pulled him into a longing kiss, burning lips promising each other salvation when this was done.

When they parted, Dean wiped over Sam's lips. He gave him a once-over with his look.

" _We both against the world, remember?_ ", Sam mouthed as he stepped closer to the door, ready to break the seal.

"We both against the world, baby brother." Dean smirked wickedly, his lips twitching. "Thirty minutes. - If you're not back then, I'm coming for you."

Dean handed him a jar with crimson liquid.

Everyone took their places in this game.

Bobby and Castiel sat in the kitchen with Bourbon in their glasses.

Dean went upstairs, flipping onto his bed.

IF the creature was aware of them in any way, they had to act like “normal”.

Sam broke the seal, opened the door and took a walk in the yard, until he started to feel his soul sink, his thoughts becoming heavier and darker. So did his will to move anywhere else but where he was right now ... sitting down in one of the scrap cars without doors.

Soon, he had forgotten about why he was roaming the yard on his own in the dawn of night. - Well, forgotten may was the wrong word: _didn't care_ fit better.

It had taken Sam aback. The spirit latching onto him that fast, as if it knew that this was it's last chance to get a severe hold of the hunter.

At the back of his mind he knew that. He knew he needed to get back to the house as soon as possible. He knew this would be the only way to stop it. But he couldn't muster himself to care.

"Sammy?!", he heard a call from the distance, recognizing the voice anywhere at the first syllable.

The voice – _Dean's_ _voice_ – tore him away from his rather dark emotions.

 _The both of them against the world._ If Sam'd give up now, there'd be no together in all of this and the last thing he wanted to right now was to loose that bond with Dean.

Sam forced his mind to get a grip on reality again. He forced himself to move, to let go of the dagger and make his way back to the house. One of his hands rested on the small jar in his jacket, holding tightly onto it.

He could make out Dean standing in the doorway keeping an eye out. - It's been barely twenty minutes that Sam was gone, and yet there he was – being overprotective as hell. - eventually ruining their plan.

Thirty minutes definitely had been too long to get the Ncu'Lech to get a hold of Sam again. Too long for Dean's twisting uneasy guts.

He and Sam communicated with a single look when he brushed past him. Sam telling him that he got it. Dean answering him, that he understood.

  
  


Dean followed him short behind, letting the door slide closed and locking it down.

Meanwhile Sam had pulled the jar out, tipped his fingers into it, and fixed the broken seal.

  
  


In that very moment, freshly -with cat's blood – painted sigils lightened up like coals on fire, burning deep into the materials they have been painted on. Walls, doors, the floor, leaving no space for the creature to outrun it's fate.

Bobby was in the living-room. Castiel in the doorway of the kitchen and Dean took his stance at the foot of the stairs.

Sam sat the jar aside, as the sigils kept gleaming, the air starting to vibrate and buzz, the atmosphere shifting.

  
  


Then they saw it.

It was right there in front of them, looming over Sam, at least twice at tall as the young Winchester.

A long dark robe made of mist and fog, moving and shifting around the young hunter, poisoning him.

It's eyes glowed bluish and orange, giant horns growing out of its forehead, long strands of hair swaying midair.

Instead of feet it had cloven hooves, shining silvery at their edges as they seemed to be sharp weapons meant to be used in a fight.

It's hands were claws, sharp and gleaming just like it's hooves.

  
  


The buzzing in Sam's ears seemed to increase as he heard ancient chanting from the distance. - Bobby had started to recite the spell to make the creature – which was now see-able due to the sigils – stay right where it was so it couldn't move back into the Void nor leave the hall at all.

The creature howled, sharp looking – still misty – claws reaching out for Sam, while he was about to draw the dagger with one hand and bracing his head with the other one.

The buzzing increased further, sending stabbing aches through Sam's skull as the claws hoovered above the young hunter.

  
  


The spell reached it's high, as the Ncu'Lech mewled and roared with anger, and Castiel started to recite the second one, which should turn the creature into something solid, so that they could pierce it's heart.

  
  


Dean himself was supposed to stab the creature, due to it's height that task seemed to become the greater problem right now. He supposed, he'd get up the stairs and jump at the son of a bitch to hit it at the right spot.

If that wouldn't work, the others had daggers themselves, so they hoped, if it didn't work with Dean stabbing that bitch, one of the others would manage that.

  
  


Bobby busied himself with preparing the third and last spell, which was supposed to ban the creature into the special spell-box which rested on his desk, while all hell broke loose.

Light's flickered, and an unearthly storm broke loose, making it close to impossible for the conqueror to stay in their positions.

The buzzing intensified, the warding symbols on the walls, doors, windows and on the floor seemed to vibrate, glowing dangerously, as if they were about to break.

Sam eventually drew his dagger.

The electricity went out, and the house fell into a meaningful darkness, and for a very neat moment, everything seemed to get to a hold. Absolute _silence_. Absolute _nothingness_. For a split second, there was nothing, as if something had swallowed the house's whole entities inside.

But then ... within a rush of petite time, everything roared back to life.

Light's went flickering.

And there it was.

The creature.

All flesh and bones, and huge, it's presence palpable as it was no longer caught in the Void.

  
  


In that very moment, Dean sensed his chance and RAN, jumped, sending himself flying at the creatures back and with a murderous cry he tore into it's flesh with the dagger.

Bobby recited the spell. Only a few words and though enough to set the Ncu'Lech on fire. Blue and white flames burst out of the inflicted wound at it's back and sent Dean flying backwards. So it did with everyone else who was standing too close.

Castiel got flung into Bobby's kitchen-cabinet, taking it down with him, wood splintering, pottery clattering.

Bobby only got brushed by a brief wind.

Sam Winchester was still on his feet.

Eyes huge in terror and agony, as something tore through his back and chest, bringing him to his knees.

The creature howled, it's mouth wide open, neck thrown back, and as it's vessel burned, blackish red smoke tore from it's mouth, bashing it's way towards the living-room, to get sucked into the spell-box

Bobby – for the quick-witted hunter he was – snapped the box shut. "Sam! Now!", he growled, holding the box between his hands so that it stayed close and the creature couldn't get back out.

Sam gasped. His mouth opened. And closed. He needed to say it. He needed to seal the box, so it'd lock itself – and it was his part to say those three simple words, since it was him who had been infected and robbed from the ability to speak.

The man drew in another breath, as deep as he could – it made a barely audible sucking sound.

"Non." He swallowed down the pain, he swallowed his fear. "Timebo." If they didn't success the Creature would break free again and this would've been for nothing. "Mala."

Then there was silence again.

A lock was heard being slid shut.

It was not the same silence like before – not this dark, buzzing atmosphere.

It was the calm after a storm, when everything was settling down.

The former electrified atmosphere was now mere sparks of energy holding.

The creature burned out and it's ashes evaporated like a bomb of dust in the air.

  
  


Dean had crashed into the wall, and had slid down, groaning and hissing at the burning sensation in his lungs and bones as his mind crawled back into consciousness. "Sam", he slurred, as he fought to get back on his weak knees. "Sammy?"

All he saw was dust, and a kneeling figure in the hall, it's back turned towards him.

He felt along the wall, bracing himself, as he made his way downstairs, speeding up as he moved. Dean hurried over to Sam, coming in front of him to a hold and falling to his knees before him.

"Hey, Sammy.", he demanded, staring into wide blown eyes. "Cas!", he yelled hysterically, as his hands romaned over him to check on Sam, desperately trying to figure out, what made Sam stare at him the way he was.

" _Dean_.", Sam choked out, his voice raspy from not being used for a very long time.

"What is it?" The hunter couldn't look away, holding Sam's gaze who seemed to latch onto his in a wise grip. "Sam?" Fear swung in this very name.

Sam's very next breath sounded wet, as if he was drowning

"Sam?" No, Dean couldn't believe it, this couldn't be happening. "Sammy?"

He tore his eyes from Sam's, as his hand found itself coming away damp and sticky from between the kid's shoulder-blades. Dean knew what this meant.

Tears stung in Dean's eyes. "No no no no"

Sam gasped, as he felt Dean's hand pressing onto the wound forcefully again.

"You didn't know ...", Sam rasped. "We didn't know ..." Telling him that this wasn't his fault, that they couldn't have known, that hurting the creature, would also hurt Sam in the same way.

"Cas!", Dean cried out again, fighting to keep Sam on his knees as he was holding him close.

"Don't. - Don't you do this to me. _Not now."_

Sam's face nuzzled into his older brother's neck, shaky long arms wrapping around his torso "Non timebo mala", Sam murmured into Dean's skin.

"I know. It's over. You did so good.", his voice was shaking. "So good."

"I love you, Dean." A shallow, sucking breath followed. "I missed talkin' t' ya."

"Castiel, dammit!" Dean pressed harder against the wound on Sam's back as he felt the warm fluid well through his fingers.

"I need ... I need you to know ..."

Dean shushed him. "Don't. - You tell me that when you're all patched up again." This wasn't how this was supposed to end. He felt Sam's grip on him fading, he felt _Sam_ fading. "You have to breathe. _Breathe_ with me."

Sam tried though he felt like drowning, unable to breathe in, his lungs burning at the lack of oxygen, his heart hammering in his chest.

He couldn't go. _Not now._ He had to tell Dean so many things. Things he was sorry for, and things he was grateful about. That everything that had happened led them where they were now, that they had finally found together.

That it all has had it's meaning and reason, and that – no matter what – things would change.

Neither of them was going to be a vessel for anyone. It was theirs to decide what their future would bring, and what and who they were supposed to be.

  
  


There were so many things to tell, and so less time remaining ...

Sam felt his brother's warm body, his heartbeat, Dean's panicked breaths, his soft fearful voice coaching him, telling him to breathe, _to_ _stay_ with him.

And god, Sam tried. He tried so hard. He fought the dark spots clouding his vision on the edges, he fought the weariness and loss of strength claiming him.

"I can't.", Sam croaked out, as he felt himself slipping so fast. Too fast, trying to hold onto Dean, but his body wouldn't obey him anymore.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him in a vice grip, as he felt him go limp. "No no no no. Don't go. We're only gettin' started, Sammy."

  
  


Castiel was there – all of a sudden – right behind Sam. Hands of milky-white skin reached out for Sam's head, and the angel's eyes enlightened in a bright icy blue.

Dean felt a shiver raging through him, the angel's energy driving blissful warmth thru Sam's form, trying to heal what could not be healed in the way it was meant to be.

Mere seconds later it was over. The bluish light ebbed away, and all there was left was a motionless body in the hunter's arms. Dean pulled him in, shifting so that he was sitting on the floor with Sam in his lap.

“Sammy.” Tears poured over Dean's face freely. Agonizing pain tearing through his chest as there were no signs of life. He chanted the younger man's name over and over again, cradling his face.

“I am sorry, Dean.” Castiel murmured. “I can not heal him whole.”

“Meanin'?”, Bobby stared down at his boys in disbelieve.

“Sam IS alive. - Though . . . There may be incurable damage.” Castiel bowed down to lay his hand on Dean's shoulder. The angel looked at the grizzled hunter. “He will live. - And so will the wound.” Castiel blinked his huge blue eyes at him. “There seem to be tendrils of the Void left behind.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”, Dean huffed out a breath.

“That I do not know. - I can only tell what I see.”, Castiel answered softly.

Sam's eyes fluttered open. A smile ghosting over his thin, ashen lips. “We winchestered that son of a bitch.”

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


_( **A/N:** So you know … I actually was going to end the story right here. - BUT, I thought, I can't do this again … Seems I've an affinity to open endings and letting you on your own in the unknown in the darkest night … So, I decided not to be such an asshole this time, and add something to it.)_

  
  


_***DW & SW***_

  
  


_3 Weeks, 7 Days and 13 Hours later . . ._

Sam's haunted looks followed Dean, as he moved around their room at Bobby's Salvage and packed their duffels.

Sam had seen it all. The Void was a vast crowded place to go. There was nothing and though everything. It was loud, and bright, though calm and dark … if that made any sense. To Sam it didn't …

It had only been minutes, though it had felt like eternity feeling all this pain and despair which lingered in this other dimension – the world of the dead. Sam still wasn't capable of wrapping his mind around what exactly had happened over there.

Though, he was dealing, he was bottling it up, step by step.

Castiel had healed him – in some way. In some way he hadn't. Sometimes the scar on his back would feel sore and hurt. So seemed to do his heart time by time.

He hadn't told Dean so far. - They had just caught the Ncu'Lech and Sam was more than happy to try and forget all about the past months. Besides … His big brother shouldn't worry about things they couldn't change anyhow.

“You good to hit the road?”, Dean gave him his best cocky smile, “Kicking some killer-clowns' asses?”

Sam bitch-faced him. “You picked the job on purpose, didn't you?”

Dean shrugged. “Thought it'd be fun.”

“Jerk”, Sam bumped into his shoulder playfully.

“Bitch.” Dean nudged him back.

  
  


**The End (for now)**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, what do you think? Are we good to go?

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna read more?  
> Be nice, and leave me some bacon ;)


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